Heroes Never Die: Ronin Mahariel
by S3eK
Summary: Heroes never die... they are reborn. Killed during his rescue of a woman, he's been thrown into a game he knows well. He keeps his memories as a human gamer and received new ones from the Dalish elf he's taken possession of. The only problem: his origin story is ten years early. Now he has ten years to prepare for the Blight.
1. Death

With a sigh and a crack of his neck, a nineteen year old set his Xbox 360 controller down and shut both his television and his console off, having finally beaten _Dragon Age: Origins_ on the Hard difficulty. _After a break of a day or two, I might try for Nightmare_, he thought as he stood, took the battery pack out of the controller and placed it on its charging dock.

The controller was placed on his desk, fitting into the one bare spot shaped suspiciously like an Xbox controller. The rest of the surface was covered, much like the floor, with various books, game manuals, and printed fanfictions such as _Vox Corporis_, _Life on Thedas_, the _Masses to Masses_ series, and the _Mass Vexation_ series. It was a wonder that he didn't trip and fall as he walked to the door of his bedroom, though years of walking through such messes gave him a good sense for these things.

A glance at his clock told him it was rather early, only eight PM. More than enough time for him to fit in a quick run before his shift at the 24-hour grocery store in town. He'd skipped the run earlier since he had been at the bottom of Fort Drakon and he was eager to finish the game for the third time.

Within a minute, he'd gathered his work uniform, his running shoes, a sleeveless workout shirt, his iPod, headphones, and the two five-inch long, inch-thick dowels he carried as defensive weapons.

He put on all his gear, his iPod fitting into the forearm sleeve he'd made to keep his hands free during workouts, rather than spend more on a regular armband. He slipped the twin impact weapons into two loops hidden at his waist with one hand as he tied his shoes with the other.

A practitioner of Tae Kwon Do since he was fourteen, he'd learned several weapon types, including arnis stick fighting, bo staff, katana, kama and sai. The last two weren't in his curriculum, so his cousin, heavy into Karate, had taught him to wield those weapons.

He left his apartment, locking the door behind him and jumped down the stairs. It was a habit he had started since he was eight, using as few steps to go as quickly as possible without exceeding the maximum speed. He'd started out going up stairs two at a time, then increased as his legs became stronger. He now could do four or five up and seven or eight down.

His record for reaching the bottom of the stairs from the tenth floor was fifty-five seconds, three milliseconds. Today, he did it in fifty-six point two, so he was within acceptable speed parameters.

Shifting his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet, he relieved the pressure caused by his impact, jogged to the doors of the building and let himself out, attaching his keys to a lanyard that hung about his neck.

With everything shut up tight, he started running, a smooth lope that he'd become accustomed to when running to work. It was either that or run full out for a minute and walk for three.

After five minutes, he'd run a quarter of the distance to his workplace, approximately a mile. His legs burned, not exhaustingly so, but an ache that showed he was within his regular pace. _Fire_ by Scooter rang in his ears, number two on what he called his 'Running' playlist.

He nearly tripped over his own feet as he heard a shrill scream, like the ones you would hear from the main actress in major horror movies.

He skidded to a halt, his shoes sliding on the pavement despite their usually heavy grip as he strained his ears to pick up any other sounds. Usually, a scream this late at night was not alone. Another would soon follow it.

He took a few steps to begin running again, thinking he had been hearing things, when he heard the scream again, closer and louder than the last one had been. He ran at what he hoped was the origin of the scream, adrenaline giving him a welcome boost to his speed. A woman's scream, this late at night meant few things, none of them good.

His suspicions were proven correct as he turned the corner to find a woman running on the opposite side of the road, a trio of men following on her heels.

_Women shouldn't walk around after dark alone like this_, he thought as he quickly ran across the street, watching as the woman turned left down an alley. The men followed her, a slight unsteadiness in their steps as if drunk. _They probably are… now I know the reason I drink among friends._

He turned the corner to find the woman at the end of the dead end alley, her back against the wall as she faced her tormentors. A bare bulb hung from the wires above, framing her in a pool of light.

The men approached the trapped woman, unaware of the impending danger that entered the alley behind them, their retribution at hand. Things were not looking good for them, should the shadow that tailed them get an edge.

One was slower than the others, leaving him in the perfect position to be taken out quietly, shifting the odds in the would-be rescuer's favor. Using his impact dowels to play the man's spine like a xylophone was tempting, though the result may be a few cracked vertebrae at least.

His right hand was strong enough to smash through two boards, so focusing the impact with the dowels was probably too much for the man's bones to handle.

Luckily, he had a great alternative.

His hands snaked out, snapping tight around the man's neck in a rear choke hold, effectively cutting off the man's air flow before he could react. From experience, he knew that his opponent would be out of the fight in less than ten seconds.

The slightly drunk man struggled weakly for a few seconds, fingers scrabbling at the offending limb with no success, before slumping in the attacker's arms, the lack of oxygen to his brain causing him to black out.

The temptation to hold on the several extra seconds to cause brain damage was strong, though that would leave the woman at the men's 'tender mercies' for far longer than necessary.

She would understand why he didn't kill him.

He dropped him, not caring if he smacked his head on the unforgiving concrete. Rapists were at the very top of his list of most hated people.

He left him there, reaching for his waistband as he approached the other two, drawing the wooden dowels he carried, the worn pieces of wood fitting into his hand perfectly.

The other two had closed in as the man had dealt with their friend, pinning the woman to the wall with their bodies and holding her hands above her head with one hand as they pawed at her with the other, fumbling to tear open the blouse she wore.

Her tear stained eyes widened in surprise as retribution incarnate stepped into the light, his fists clenched so hard that his very arms were shaking. A dark glower was on his face, his brows hiding his eyes as the bare bulb threw light on his face.

The two men paused in their attempted rape as the woman gasped, drawing their attention away from the black bra she wore, now revealed between the torn pieces of her blouse. They turned their heads to see where their friend was, only to meet a pair of hard wooden circles that slammed into their jaws with strength born from untamed fury.

Both stumbled back a few steps, seeing stars as they tried to remain on their feet. Neither succeeded, both falling to their knees as they tried to regain their equilibrium. Each bore a circular mark on their jaws, already swelling and coloring a bright red.

"Run," said the man, pointing back down the alley towards the road and escape. He stepped out of the way as she made up her mind.

The woman needed no other urging, wisely vacating the alley, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. All that mattered to her was putting distance between her and her would-be attackers.

The man turned back to the pair of would-be rapists, seeing that one had made it to his feet. The drunk tried to follow the girl, despite the fact that the man who had just laid him out with a single hit was currently in his path.

He charged, roaring like a bull with his fists swinging wildly. In his drunkenness, he obviously didn't notice the muscles that bunched and coiled beneath the man's skin as he shifted his weight.

A quick block with a knife hand, his dowel held between his palm and thumb, had the young man inside the drunk's guard, close enough to smell the man's breath, laced heavily with alcohol. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, the young man slid his hand up the drunk's arm, slamming the impact weapon into his jaw line for the second time that night, giving him a second red circle on the opposite side of his face.

As the drunk's head reeled back, the man slammed the other hand's dowel into his gut, forcing his opponent to reflexively curl up over his fist. As the man began to bend, the attacker planted the first dowel in the drunk's jaw, effectively knocking him out, his body undergoing so many different stimuli that he was knocked out before his brain could catch up.

The drunk took a half step back, stumbled as his brain began to shut down, and fell into a dumpster, the foul refuse cushioning his fall.

The young man heard the scuff of shoes on the pavement, which caused him to turn as the noise signified the movement of the other man, who had apparently recovered from his fist induced dizziness.

The young man turned, raising his weapons to defend an attack…

And felt a white hot lance of pain spring up on the right side of his chest.

Looking down, he saw the second drunk's hand clasping the hilt of a switchblade, the blade of which was now buried up to the hilt in his side. The nineteen year old slumped, falling to his knees, partly glad that the drunk didn't hang on to the knife hilt as he fell. Had he held on, the blade would have torn out of him and caused a deep laceration all the way up his chest. As painful as the stabbing was, he didn't want to add the pain of deep cuts to the mix.

He fell on his side, coughing in a vain attempt to clear his lungs of the blood that now flooded his airways. The blade remained in his chest, an abnormal growth jutting from his side, blood leaking out to stain the shirt he wore and the pavement beneath him.

The standing drunk ran for it, leaving his buddies lying in the heaps the man had left them in, his sense of self-preservation leading him to leave the scene as quickly as possible.

All was quiet in the dark alley, marred only by the ragged coughs that the young man used to spit out more blood, further staining the pavement.

A third scream had him pause in mid-cough, making him think that the woman had returned and been caught by the third drunk. He rolled over, agony ripping through him at the action, though he shoved it aside. Pain meant little to him now in the grand scheme of things, especially when it was a young woman's virtue at stake. He would rather die than stand by and let anything happen to a woman against her will.

Chances were that he was going to die anyway…

He was surprised, to say the least, when he found himself not three feet from what looked like a rip in the air. Despite the blood pooling beneath him and the metallic tang of blood on his lips, he was interested to see such a thing, a rip in the space/time continuum.

_At least, that's what I assume it is_, thought the man as he coughed up more blood and let his head fall to the ground, his muscles finally giving out.

His head met the unforgiving concrete, the pain barely even registering in his mind as the world began to darken. He struggled to keep his eyes open only to discover that it was not his eyes closing that brought upon the darkness, but that it was his vision itself that was failing.

With a final cough and a last sigh of air escaping his throat, the man lay dead upon the pavement.

* * *

><p>Hours later, police cars with their flashing red and blue lights were parked at the edge of the alley, the officers taping off the area. A pair of ambulances sat nearby, the pair of drunken men being cared for by the paramedics, kept under close watch by the police.<p>

One officer had noticed the pattern of the bruising around one's neck, noting that only a well trained man could have pulled off a choke hold with that amount of skill.

Being trained as a cop gave him a lot of hand to hand training, though he preferred to rely on his Karate when faced with a single opponent.

The prior martial arts training had him recognize the circular marks on the second man's face, which had him looking at the dead nineteen year old. A pair of wooden dowels had been found near his corpse, cementing the theory of the John Doe taking out both the drunks.

"Hey, Taggert!" he yelled, looking to his partner. "What's the drunk's story?"

Taggert walked over, holding his notepad in one hand, the other placing his pen behind his ear. "The drunk with the marks around his neck says he and his buddies got a little drunk and started to walk home. Says they were attacked as they passed the alley. That's all he knows."

"His friend?"

"Same thing. Exact same thing."

"Don't buy it. John Doe's dressed for running. Probably for work, judging by the uniform in his bag. He's trained, too."

"Hmm?" his partner questioned, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at his partner. "What do you mean?"

"Look at his knuckles. They only get like that when you're a brawler or a martial artist. Those dowels give it away, too. Those are impact weapons, meant to focus the force of an attack to a smaller contact area."

The pair of cops looked to the corpse, which the EMTs were placing in a body bag.

"I wonder who he was…"

* * *

><p>He looked around, seeing nothing but white in all directions.<p>

"Strange…" he said, looking down at himself. The blade in his chest was gone, as was the blood and any type of mark that would be associated with a stabbing.

_~Your time has not come, warrior_.~

boomed a voice, sending him to his knees. The voice was not heard in his ears, but rather his whole being. The voice rippled through him, much like the vibrations that go through someone when they stand too close to a speaker set on max volume.

_~You still have work to do.~_

The world began to fade, leaving him to sink back into the darkness once again.

_~Much work to do.~_

* * *

><p>At that moment, the recently deceased man awoke to the feeling of being kicked in the leg. <em>Odd… unless God greets souls with a kick in the leg, I shouldn't be feeling anything.<em>

He rolled over, at once noting the absence of pain in his chest. He breathed deep as he rubbed a hand over his chest, feeling nothing but unmarred skin beneath his fingers.

As he breathed, he was overwhelmed by the amount of different scents he was picking up. Meat was roasting not far away, if his nose was to be trusted, the trees natural fragrance filling the air, the smell of deerskin leather and the metallic tang of steel close by.

Not only did he smell a lot of different things, he heard them as well. The subtle rustle of tree leaves, the breathing of some person, and the tiny squeaks of leather as it stretched filled his head, making him wonder where the hell he was.

He opened his eyes, squinting against the bright light that now invaded his brain with a stab of pain. He placed a hand over his eyes as he propped himself up on one elbow, noting that he felt something akin to dirt beneath the blanket he now sat on.

He pulled his hand away, letting his eyes get used to the bright light filtering down through the treetops.

_Wait a second…treetops? I'm dead_, he thought as looked down at his body. His eyes confirmed what his fingers had felt: unmarked skin on his side, no evidence of a blade ever entering his chest._ Or… I should be…_

Shifting his gaze, he noticed a pair of legs in standing right next to him, leather boots planted firmly in the grass. He looked up, jerking with surprise as he recognized the face of the man who stood before him.

_Perhaps the word 'man' is not the most appropriate at this point in time_, he though as he stared up at the face of Tamlen, a Dalish elf from Dragon Age: Origins.

"By Falon'Din's bow, Ronin, you've never slept in so late before! Usually you chide us for not waking with the sun," said Tamlen, a smile upon his lips. The tattoos he wore were thrown into contrast with his skin as a beam of light fell across his face. Brown lines and swirls formed branches at the center of his brow and stretched toward his hairline, others starting at the corner of his lips and tracing to the back of his jaw.

_The elves practice Vallaslin, in which they are tattooed with symbols for one of the nine gods when they come of age_, thought Ronin as he stared at Tamlen. _Where did that spring from?_

"Come on, get up. We're wasting daylight and the Keeper has asked us to hunt today," said Tamlen, nudging Ronin again with his boot.

"Fine, fine. Let me grab my gear," said Ronin, rising to his feet. _If this is the afterlife, or even just a dream, I may as well play along_, he thought as he stepped away from his bedroll. _And if it's not a dream…I'm in for one hell of a ride._

_Assuming that I sleep under this tree, these weapons and armor are mine as well_, thought Ronin as he pulled the armor towards himself.

The armor was fashioned from deerskin leather, embossed with designs of hunting hawks and serpents. Ronin wrapped the armor around his torso, buckling it firmly to his skin. Much to his surprise, it fit rather well once he rolled his shoulders a few times, the leather conforming to his body.

A pair of boots was next, made from soft deerskin as well, which were perfect when on the hunt as the soft leather would not make as much sound as regular boots or shoes, making it much easier for a hunter to stalk his prey. Ronin pulled the boots on, marveling at how comfortable they were, and wrapped the binding leather straps around his calf, securing the boots to his feet.

A pair of bracers that looked like they completed the set sat next to where the boots had been. One bracer had a glove on the right hand, which Ronin noticed that the deerskin leather had been cut thicker for the index and middle fingers, made for heavy use from an archer. They, too, were slid on, the edge of the glove ending at the elbow; ironbark dyed dark brown acting as the armor for his forearms. A quick clenching of his fists informed him that, though the glove was made for an archer, it would not impede him were he to use blades rather than bows.

After the armor was strapped on, Ronin turned, the feeling that he had forgotten something tapping him on the shoulder.

He looked around, trying to see something, before his eyes fell on his bedroll.

The pillow was not, in fact, a pillow. More like a rolled up piece of material.

Acting on a hunch, Ronin unrolled the makeshift pillow and found himself holding a hooded cloak in his hands, the greens and browns of the forest dyed into the material.

He swung it about his shoulders, a sense of completion running through him. He slowly drew the hood over his head, feeling like Ezio from Assassin's Creed when he put on his father's garb. The hood probably made him look like Ezio and Altaїr as well.

He then turned to his weapons, which were lying within easy reach of his bedroll:

A quiver of black shafted arrows sat by the tree he had been sleeping under, a longbow made of pale blue wood lying next to them, unstrung with the bowstring coiled at one end. It was simple in design, a recurve four feet tall. An experimental draw had him nodding slightly to himself as the draw weight of the bow was within his limits.

A pair of sheathed dar'misu was attached to the quiver, hilts down. They didn't follow the game's look, following the design of a simple guard less wakizashi rather than having that funny hook just after the blades were simple, well used and razor sharp, as Ronin found out by drawing a fingertip over one blade, cutting with little pressure. Blue ironbark was obviously used in their construction, much stronger and lighter than regular ironbark.

_How do I know about _blue _ironbark when I barely know anything about regular ironbark? At least, I assume that's ironbark_, thought Ronin as he strapped on the quiver, his hands buckling the straps with practiced ease, something that unnerved him slightly.

_This is weird…I know things from the game like the story line and such, but I never studied the codex or wore such armor…_

These thoughts were brushed away as he approached Tamlen, who had patiently waiting, leaning on a tree, a strung bow leaning against it. "Well, lethallin, shall we hunt?"

"May Andruil guide us in our hunt," intoned Ronin, instinctively saying the lines as if he had for all his life. _Things are growing weirder and weirder…_

Tamlen laughed as he turned. "Of course she will. My Vallaslin are a tribute to Andruil. I've never came back without a kill."

Ronin rolled his eyes, smirking at his clan-brother as he pulled on the hood of his cloak over his head. _It's like I know him… like I lived with the Dalish all my life_, he thought as he followed Tamlen, both of them becoming part of the forest.

Both turned and entered the forest, passing the dog statue of Fen'Harel, the 'Dread Wolf' that served as a reminder to all Dalish, telling them to be wary outside the boundaries of the camp.

Tamlen crouched low, weaving around the natural fauna with the ease of a skilled hunter. Ronin followed, pleasantly surprised as he found the way of moving silently through the forest quite easy. _Perhaps I'm giving myself these skills, my dream self providing for me_, he thought, following Tamlen with an arrow notched to his bowstring.

After a moment stalking through the forest, Tamlen held up his fist, freezing in the underbrush. Ronin halted as well, crouching beside him with his bow at the ready. "What is it?"

"Look," said Tamlen, pointing at the ground as he sniffed the air. "_Shemlen_ have passed this way."

Ronin examined the tracks, noting the three sets of footprints in the soft earth at their feet. A cautious sniff filled his nose with a familiar scent, memories surfacing in his mind, filling it with images of shadowing humans as they entered the forest, keeping an eye on them should they wander too close to the camp.

Tamlen bared his teeth as he scowled, his dislike for the shems plain on his face and in his voice. "They are close… too close to the camp."

"Agreed, lethallin," said Ronin, tightening his fingers on the arrow still notched on his bowstring. "Split up. If you find them, give me a hunter's call."

"Very well, Ronin. If you find them first, wait for me," said Tamlen, moving off to the right, disappearing into the forest, ready for the encounter with the humans.

"Interesting," Ronin said to himself, silently making his way through the forest. "If these are the same three humans from the game, Duncan will be here soon."

Ronin moved faster than he thought he could while crossing the terrain silently, making it very easy to cross the forest floor in little time without disturbing the wildlife. He assumed the boots he wore helped; though he was sure that they, like other things, only helped so much.

His path took him to a stream, a herd of deer grazing quietly on the opposite bank. The tranquility was inspiring, making him pause for a moment at the bank, enjoying the gentle trickle of the stream and the soft hoof beats of the deer.

He leaned down to take a drink, hands cupped to bring water to his lips. He paused, however, as he caught sight of his face.

His face was tattooed, like Tamlen's, though to a much greater degree. His face was marked with vines that snaked from his jaw line to the center of his face, other lines doing the same from his forehead. One half of his face had only the black ink forming the vines. The other half was the inverse; the branches left the color of his skin but the rest was inked in black.

_Hm…if Tamlen's Vallaslin is in tribute to Andruil, I wonder who mine is in tribute to_, thought Ronin as he proceeded to drink, lifting the cool water to his lips.

His silent contemplation of his blood writing was cut short by the call of a bird. Normally, one would not notice such an insignificant detail. But Ronin noticed that the call repeated itself twice in a row. That was the signal Tamlen was using. The call was three bursts: one long warbling call with two short ones following behind.

Ronin folded his hands together and replied in the same fashion, blowing across the hole in his hands to reproduce the same call, opening his fingers to change the call like a real bird.

With his signal sent to his clan-brother, Ronin made his way through the forest, approaching the point where Tamlen's call had originated from.

He crept over a hill, his pointed ears easily listening to the heavy footfalls of a trio of humans, to find one of the three humans skid to a stop, Tamlen standing a few feet away, his bow drawn with a sneer on his face.

"It's a Dalish," exclaimed the downed human, pointing out Tamlen to his friends, who appeared a second later to help him up.

"And you three are somewhere you shouldn't be," said Tamlen, sighting down his arrow, likely aiming for the heart of one of the shem before him.

"Let us by, _elf_," said one of the humans, acting arrogant, as if Tamlen was beneath him. The situation was humorous, seeing how the shem bore no armor nor carried any weapons. "You have no right to stop us."

Tamlen grinned, finding the shem's act of arrogance funny for a man whose face was pale with exertion. "No? We will see about that, won't we?"

Ronin sidestepped down the hill, a pair of his black arrows notched to the string, his bow held parallel to the ground. Tamlen smiled at the sight, knowing Ronin was one of the few who could fire multiple arrows at once and still manage to hit his target perfectly. The last he checked, Ronin could accurately fire at three different targets at once.

Ronin himself didn't even realize it when he had laid two arrows on his bow, both arrows caught between his fingers. _I reflexively placed two arrows on my bow? Maybe... just maybe... I'm absorbing the memories of the Dalish Warden?_

"You're just in time! I found these... humans lurking in the bushes," Tamlen said, drawing back on his bowstring, his aim never wavering. "Bandits, no doubt."

The second human, the one who had helped the third to his feet, reacted accordingly, denying the charge, waving his arms around frantically, just as he did in the game. "We aren't bandits! I swear! Please don't hurt us!"

Tamlen and Ronin drew closer, their arrow points never wavering more than a half an inch in either direction. At this range, it would be very hard to miss, even if Ronin had a more difficult shot.

"You shemlen are pathetic; it's hard to believe you ever drove us from our homeland."

"W-we've never done nothing to you Dalish!" stuttered the human who had taken a fall in the dirt. "We didn't even know this forest was yours!"

Tamlen sneered at the humans, scaring them with his glare. "This forest isn't ours, fool! You've stumbled to close to our camp," said Tamlen, maintaining the tension in his bow line. "You shems are like vermin... we can't trust you not to make mischief."

He looked sideways at his clan brother, indicating the humans with a jerk of his head. "What say you, lethallin? What should we do with them?"

Ronin smirked over his bow at the humans, embracing the Dalish within. It seemed natural as tightened his fingers, drawing the arrowheads back another half inch. "Kill them... what do I care? The other will never know."

Tamlen laughed, delighted. "I like the sound of that! Anything to say in your defense, shems?"

"L-look... we didn't come here to be trouble. We just found a cave..." said one, nearly soiling himself as the three arrowheads pointed at him glinted in the sunlight.

"Yes, a cave! With ruins like I've never seen!" chimed in another, adding to his compatriot's nervous chatter. "We thought there might be, uh..."

Ronin and Tamlen raised an eyebrow as the human trailed off, his voice losing volume before he fell silent, looking sheepish as he stood with his fellows.

"Treasure," deadpanned Tamlen, sounding bored with the conversation. "So you're more akin to thieves than actual bandits."

"We know this forest. There are caves, but no ruins," said Ronin, raising his bow, now aiming to send an arrowhead through their heads rather than their torso. "You lie..."

"I... I have proof! Here... we found this just inside the entrance," said one, desperate to get the arrows pointed away from him. He withdrew a small statuette from his pocket, holding it out to Tamlen.

Tamlen looked at Ronin, who nodded as he loosened his bowstring for a few seconds, adding a third arrow to the rest.

Tamlen then lowered his bow and stepped forward, snatching the stone figure from the shemlen's hands. He examined it, talking out loud as he did so. "This stone has carvings…is this…elvish? Written elvish?"

The human gestured back the way they came. "There's more in the ruins. We didn't get very far in, though…"

"How do you know that's elvish, Tamlen?" asked Ronin, watching his clan-brother redraw an arrow from the quiver on his back and notched it on his bowstring. The tension on his bow made him feel at home, the burn in his muscles as he sighted down the arrows becoming very familiar, a sense of d_éjà vu filling him._

Tamlen pulled back his arm, drawing his bow again, covering his target as Ronin flicked one of his arrows off his bow into the dirt. He smirked as he settled in to his stance, his attention now divided between two targets rather than three.

"I've seen something similar on the keeper's scrolls…" said Tamlen, his thoughts miles away, the implications of what this could be startling him. He snapped back to the present, fixing his drifting aim back on the humans. "And this is all you found? Why didn't you look for more?"

"There was a demon! It was huge, with black eyes! Thank the Maker we were able to outrun it!" said the human, gesturing with his arms to indicate the size of the beast.

Tamlen and Ronin scoffed, not believing the human in the slightest.

"A demon?" asked Tamlen in an amused tone of voice, humoring the shem. "Where is this cave?"

"Just off to the west, I think. There's a cave in the rock face, and a huge hole just inside," said the shem.

"Well?" asked Tamlen, speaking to Ronin. "Do you trust them? Shall we let them go?" "So they can bring a mob to drive us out?" asked Ronin, scoffing at the idea. "Kill them all."

"Yes," Tamlen agreed. "One could expect no less from a shem. This will not take long."

Tamlen opened his hand smoothly, releasing the arrow from his bow. The arrow jumped the narrowest margins: the gap between a Dalish archer and his target.

The shemlen dropped like a stone, an arrow through his heart. The other two turned to run, presenting a perfect target for Ronin to hit.

He unclenched his fingers and released his arrows, striking both the human in the back, nearly simultaneously. They fell, one screaming as the arrowhead bit deep into his body.

Tamlen shouldered his bow and walked forward, looking over his shoulder at Ronin. "Well, shall we see if there is any truth to their story?" asked Tamlen, beckoning for Ronin to follow. "These carvings make me curious."

Ronin slipped the bowstring around his quiver, hooking the longbow across his back. "Sounds like a good idea," he said, walking to stand side by side to Tamlen.

"And if we find anything, the keeper will want to know," said Tamlen, smiling as he walked into the forest with his best friend.

They walked down the forest path, moving silently in the hunter's way, as to avoid any attacks from a forest predator, such as a bear or wolf.

Ronin smiled, marveling at the forest his clan, as he now thought of it, had chosen to stay for the time being. This particular part of the forest had many springs and small waterfalls, perfect for easy water access for both the clan and the halla that provided the clan with transport when it was time to move on. The forest was also full of wildlife, deer, hares, songbirds, wolves and bears, which made hunting rather easy.

Ears trained with years of hunter experience heard a faint growl. Ronin and Tamlen shared a glance, both knowing that the smallest of signs could indicate big and perhaps dangerous problems if not handled correctly.

They crept around the bushes to find the source of the growl that had been heard over the forests natural background noise: a pair of wolves feasting on the corpse of a dead halla.

The pair silently drew their weapons, Tamlen drawing his longbow, a razor-sharp arrow in hand. Ronin followed suit, his black arrow already nocked on the taut string of his pale blue longbow.

Both shot in unison, planting arrows in the heads of the two wolves. They dropped silently, the twin shafts ending the lives of the wolves faster than they could realize. The two hunters bowed their heads, muttering a prayer to Falon'Din to guide the souls of their kills to beyond the Veil.

"Let's remember to bring them back to camp afterwards," said Ronin, pulling his arrow from the wolf with one hand as he closed the eyes with another. "We should not waste them."

"Very true, Ronin," said Tamlen, placing his hand on the wolf's side, feeling a twinge of regret at having to kill such a marvelous animal. "It would be disrespectful to leave them to rot."

Tamlen moved the wolf corpse from the path, placing branches over it to shield it from sight and hopefully mask the scent. Ronin did the same.

They both approached the halla that the wolves had taken down.

"Another of Ghilan'nain's children goes to meet her," said Tamlen, shaking his head. "Such a waste."

Ronin looked over the halla's body, checking for any sign of the clan markings that were painted on the halla's shoulders, marking them so that if any hunter were to find them, they could report the death to the halla keeper in the clan.

"She's not one of ours," said Ronin, not finding the marking that signified his clan, nor did he find any other markings. "That's a good thing, at least."

"We'll bury her when we get back from the cave," said Tamlen, replacing his bow across his back. "Let's go."

The next half an hour was uneventful, the forest silent. This unnerved the two elves, seeing how the forest was regularly a cacophony of sounds. The birds were silent, no wolves prowled the underbrush, and there were no critters to be seen.

Finally the two came in front a large cave in the side of a hill.

"This must be the cave," said Tamlen, looking up at the entrance to the ruins. "I don't recall seeing this before, do you?"

"No, I don't," said Ronin, a look of concern on his face. "Let's check it out."

"My thoughts exactly," said Tamlen, a mix of concern and expectation across his face. "With luck, we'll find something that will make us clan heroes."

They entered the cave, finding the ruins at the end of a long hall, hewn out of the limestone.

"It… looks like the shem was telling the truth," said Tamlen, looking at the ruins with something akin to worship. "But these ruins look more human than elven."

Ronin nodded, walking slowly into the ruins, Tamlen following behind.

A rustling from above was the only warning as a pair of spiders the size of humans descended from the ceiling. Compared to the pair of elves, the spiders were looking very,_ very_ big.

"Mythal protect us!" shouted Ronin, drawing his dual dar'misu in a flash of steel. Tamlen drew his sword and lifted the shield from the leather straps keeping it bound to his back, quickly strapping it to his forearm.

Both Dalish charged, their blades whirling through the air as they hacked at the many legs of the spiders. Both dodged back and forth, keeping themselves out of reach of the mandibles of the spider, venom dripping from them as the spiders lunged in close, trying to inject their lethal poison into the pair.

It was the lunge that was their undoing.

Tamlen raised his shield, blocking the spider as he thrust his blade into the soft underbelly of the spider.

As the spider Ronin fought lunged, he dropped to the ground and slid along the stone floor, his blades held in reverse-grips, the blades slicing the spider open from head to tail.

Tamlen pushed the spider corpse off his shield, sighing as he noticed the spider blood that now covered his shield, not wishing to spend hours cleaning it like the last time he spilled blood against it. "Ronin?"

Ronin stuck his head out from behind the corpse of his spider, an eyebrow raised. "So…let's not do that again."

"I agree," said Tamlen, slumping against a pillar as he panted, trying to catch his breath. "Let's rest for a moment. Those damn things are fast."

"They have eight legs, lethallin. Of course, they're fast," retorted Ronin, cleaning his blades with a rag as he sat against the wall. _I really wish there was more background on Tamlen… he seems to be a good guy…er…elf._

"I can't wait until we get back," Tamlen said, a dreamy look about his face.

"Oh? Why's that?" Now Ronin was confused. This was never mentioned in the game. There was no dialogue that covered this, no way for him to know what this conversation could be about.

"Didn't I tell you? I've asked Merril for her hand," said Tamlen, a smile playing about his lips. "And she said yes!"

This had Ronin turn his head in surprise. _Okay_, thought Ronin, putting a hand to his chin. _Now… I know Tamlen doesn't survive this, assuming I follow the origin story…perhaps there is another way?_

Ronin pondered this as he finished rubbing the spider blood from his blades, eyeing his reflection in the mirror-like surface. _I will change fate…regardless of the consequences… I will make things right…_

They waited a few minutes more, recovering from the short but brutal fight with giant sized arachnids, before they stood and began walking down the halls.

"This place makes me nervous," came Tamlen's voice, a tone of unease in his voice.

"What do you think of all this?" asked Ronin, watching his clan-brother out of the corner of his eyes.

"I'm not sure," answered Tamlen, looking around at the dark corridor and the ancient stones that made it, a few of the blocks laying on the floor as tree roots had sent them tumbling ages ago. "This looks like a very old human place… why would they build this? Why would Elvin artifacts be here? Maybe some of our ancestors lived here, in caves like the dwarves.

"I'll stick to roaming the lands myself," he said as he flashed a grin, amused.

Ronin glanced at him, smiling in agreement. Memories of traveling in aravels, setting up camps in the heart of the Brecilian Forest and the Korcari Wilds, hunting with his clan-mates, and guarding against human interferences rose up from his subconscious. This raised more questions and answered others, further increasing both his knowledge of the Dalish and his curiosity of where the memories were coming from.

_But, as with the game counterpart, this doesn't seem like a home_, he thought, looking around. "This doesn't feel like anyone's home."

"I don't know… I have this odd sensation that we've… _disturbed_ something, like we just walked into a dragon's lair," said Tamlen, looking over his shoulder as if he felt someone's eyes upon his back. "Well, whatever it is, it won't stop me.

"A Dalish hunter fears nothing," he proclaimed, feeling a bit braver at his own words.

"I remember differently, _O Great Dalish Hunter_," said Ronin, a new memory flashing through his mind: the two of them running for their lives as the Keeper ran after them, covered from head to toe in honey. They had taken Paivel's lessons in trap-making and used them for their own devious plans, setting a trip-wire to a bucket precariously balanced over the doorway.

"Remember when we trapped the Keeper's aravel?"

"Funny…"

"It was worth the three weeks of cleaning we had to do, wasn't it?" asked Ronin, smiling as Tamlen threw a suffering glare at the rogue.

"I suppose so… say! Weren't you supposed to be assisting Master Ilen today? How did you end up coming with me?"

"Actually, it's a punishment."

"Typical…" said Tamlen in an exasperated tone. "What did you do? Nevermind, I can just imagine. Let's just find whatever's here and get out, we can talk later."

_If I remember correctly, we turn the corner, fight a trio of spiders, and then find the statue of Falon'Din_, thought Ronin as he walked through the dark corridor, one of his blades in hand should he need to fight.

"It's quiet…" said Tamlen, walking slowly beside Ronin, his shield and sword held at the ready. _Hopefully all that training he's been going through will help us get through this place without getting ourselves killed_, he thought, idly shifting the heavy shield on his arm.

"Almost too quiet, lethallin?" asked Ronin, a hand snaking behind his back to grasp at the hilt of his second dagger. _Spiders around the next corner…if the game holds true_, he thought, reaching for his second blade as he approached the corner.

"Tamlen… be ready."

A quick look at Ronin was all that Tamlen had time as they turned the corner.

A trio of spiders charged them, their pincers dripping with venom, legs tapping a rapid tempo against the stone floor. Ronin's hands flashed as he twirled his blades in a defensive pattern, forcing the spiders to back off for a moment so he could enact his plans. _Good thing I know how to use 'Stealth' in 'real' life_.

"Mind their webs!" Ronin called to Tamlen as he drew both blades and he circled left, leaving to Tamlen to draw the attention of the spiders so he could outflank them. He embraced the shadows, making himself even harder to see, especially to the spiders, who did not share the elves' ability to see in the dark.

"Ronin?" asked Tamlen anxiously, bashing aside a leaping spider with his shield while blindly slashing at the other two, keeping them from joining the first in attacking. The spider he hit flew back into a column, allowing him to turn and focus on the other two.

"Could you hurry this up a bit?" said Tamlen as he swung around, shield raised to block any charges from the two in his blind spot as he twirled his sword into a ready position. He rolled his eyes, however, and returned to the stunned spider as he witnessed Ronin jump out of the shadows and impale both of the spiders, each blade spearing a spider through the head and pinning them to the floor.

"Someone called?" asked Ronin nonchalantly, removing his blades from the spiders as Tamlen slammed the edge of his shield into the spider's head and finished it with a sword thrust.

"Took you long enough," Tamlen growled out as he swung his sword to remove most of the spider blood, sending a crimson arc into the wall before he shifted his shield to his back straps.

"Fine… you be the one who sneaks about," retorted Ronin, smiling as he took several steps forward, making nary a sound, already walking down the hall. Tamlen looked down as his heavier armor, which had several segments of chain mail that jingled as he walked.

With a look skywards, Tamlen followed Ronin down the hall, stopping him at a T-junction.

_This looks familiar_, thought Ronin, coming to the statue that Tamlen always talked about in-game. Tamlen saw the statue, his eyes widening in astonishment. _Cue dialogue._

"I can't believe this!" exclaimed Tamlen, sheathing his sword as he hurried over to the statue. "You recognize this statue, don't you?"

"It's worn, but looks vaguely familiar," Ronin replied. _Technically, I would know it anywhere, seeing how I've seen it before_, he thought, hiding a smirk.

"Back when our people lived in Arlathan, statues like these honored the Creators," Tamlen explained. "When the shems enslaved us, much of that lore was lost. This looks like human architecture, with a statue of our people. Can these ruins date back to the time of Arlathan?"

"It's interesting. So much of our past is lost to us," said Ronin, looking at the statue. It looked like an elderly elf, its arms held open in welcoming.

"I'd never have guessed that ancient elves might've lived here… with humans!"

"That was probably a long time ago… Arlathan was founded some eight thousand, four hundred and thirty years ago, right?" asked Ronin, remembering that one fact he'd read about: the events of the Fifth Blight occurred in the thirtieth year of the Dragon Age or eight thousand, four hundred and thirty years after the Founding of Arlathan.

"Close… eight thousand, four hundred and _twenty_ years ago."

This brought Ronin up short a few feet from the pressure plate before the door to the Tainted Mirror. _Ten years? I'm ten years early?_ thought Ronin, beginning to panic. _If this is ten years before the Blight, maybe Duncan's not going to be here! I won't get a place with the Grey Wardens! I'm gonna die!_

"Ronin?" asked Tamlin, stopping just short of stepping on the plate. "What's wrong?"

"Uh… I have a bad feeling about this place."

"We've come this far. We might as well see what's behind this door," said Tamlen, taking that last step forward.

"Tamlen, stop!"

Ronin's warning came too late. Tamlen's foot landed on the plate.

With a clank, the pressure plate activated, releasing poison gas into the air. Tamlen backpedaled rapidly, raising a hand as if he could ward off the gas.

"Tamlen, get out of there!" shouted Ronin, already turning to face the way they came. "Back to the last chamber!"

Tamlen ran, easily catching up to the rogue, making it back to the room with the trio of spider corpses. Gasping for breath, Tamlen placed his hands on his knees and spat in the dirt. "Let's not do _that_ again, either."

Ronin managed a weak smile from his slumped position against a column. "Agreed."

"You think the poison will last long?"

"Not too long, I think. It will dissipate into the air enough that we can continue, if we use masks."

They waited a few moments, letting the gas spread out thin enough so that, with the use of makeshift masks torn from Ronin's cloak, they could approach the door.

"You owe me a new cloak."

"Who said we needed masks?"

"I didn't mean tearing my cloak to get them."

"Fine. I'll ask Master Ilen if he's got anything in stock. If he doesn't, we'll talk with the next clan we meet," said Tamlen, rolling his eyes. "Come on, we're almost at the door."

_Here it comes_, thought Ronin as he approached the door. _Cue walking corpses._

As soon as Tamlen was a foot away from the door, the corpses started rising. Ronin noticed that while the game only had two walking corpses, reality had provided him with a full twenty.

_This is not good…_

"Walking corpses?" questioned Tamlen in a higher than normal pitch. "This place is haunted!"

"Less talking, more killing!" Ronin said shaking his head as he thrust one blade into a corpse's chest and used the other to remove its head.

Tamlen drew his blade and shield, quickly joining the fray. He wound up back to back with Ronin, using his shield to block any blows coming for the rogue's blind side while using his blade to hack off any offending corpse's limbs that entered his range.

Ronin turned left, flipping his offhand blade into a reverse grip and slashing it across a corpse's throat, neatly beheading it. He followed through the motion, spinning in a quick circle to slice out a leg with his main dar'misu. A quick stab with his left blade sent another corpse to the Fade.

A third corpse tried to land a swing with a rusty, wicked looking mace, which was promptly dodged and retaliated against. Off balance, the corpse had no time to defend against a snap kick to the stomach, which then led to a blade entering the top of its skull.

The next corpse tried a stab, aiming for Ronin's chest. A quick-step around the thrust had the corpse receiving a new hole in its back. Ronin smiled as he withdrew his blade and charged the next, leaving death in his wake. _Double kill…Triple kill…Overkill…Killtacular…I'm Batman!_

Tamlen and Ronin quickly finished the fight, owing to the fact that, while able to fight, the corpses walked forward slowly, allowing the duo to take care of them easily.

"Okay… that's a new one," said Ronin, dropping his blades as he slumped against the door. "How could walking corpses be here?"

"Hahren Paivel once said that in places where many people died, it can become Setheneran, a land of waking dreams. The Veil becomes weak and spirits slip into our world… then they possess _corpses_ and _walk around_," said Tamlen, shivering at the last part.

"You think many elves died here?" asked Ronin, looking at the bones that had recently tried to kill them.

"There's certainly enough bones. Maybe no one was left to bury them," Tamlen said, thinking aloud. "Let's press on. I want to know how are people were involved with this."

"Let's go," said Ronin as he grabbed his blades and stood, already looking towards the door. _How am I going to do this? I don't think I can convince him to leave me alone with the mirror. This may prove problematic._

Ronin stood in front of the door, hand on the latch. Tamlen tapped on his shoulder, signifying that he had his shield ready should they elves be in an ambush situation upon opening the door.

With a twist of the handle, Ronin threw his shoulder into the door, making it fly open. Tamlen charged into the room, shield held protectively in front while his blade positioned to swing or stab at a moments notice.

What was in the room made both of them stop and stare.

A giant mirror sat in the center of the large circular room, supported by a pair of human men holding longswords. A set of stairs led up to it, made of the same white stone. Words in some strange script were inscribed around the mirror's edge. Despite the age of the ruins and itself, there was neither a speck of dust nor faintest hint of a scratch on it.

This mirror, however, was not the reason that the elves paused. It was what had been prowling around in front of the mirror that had them frozen.

It was a bear covered in blood, various spikes protruding from its back, legs, and jaw. By the looks of its skin, large chunks had been torn out of it, leaving bone, veins, and muscle visible in some places.

Lucky for the elves, the beast was as surprised at their sudden entrance as they were at the sight of it.

Quickly overcoming his fear at seeing a Bereskarn up close, for real, Ronin slid his blades into their sheaths and unlimbered his bow. "Tamlen! Draw its attention!"

The other elf looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Sure… while I'm at it, allow me to find the lost city of Arlathan."

"Good idea! Len'alas lath'din… " he yelled back, muttering the insult at the end as to avoid Tamlen hearing it. He had two arrows already at full draw, aimed for the beast's eyes. The beast looked between the two elves, its maddened state not helping it choose which one was an easier target.

"I heard that!" shouted Tamlen, dancing close to the tainted bear to swing at it. He connected, adding a new wound along the bear's blood spattered flank.

With a roar, the bear chose its target and swung a heavy paw at Tamlen, sharp claws seeking his flesh. Tamlen danced back out of range, using a backhand swing to inflict another injury on the pad of its paw.

"Anytime now, Ronin!" shouted Tamlen as the bear roared in pain and began to approach, slowly driving him into a corner.

"Damn it," Ronin swore as he released the two arrows. He had abandoned his attempt for the eyes, aiming for the body in an attempt to draw the bear off Tamlen.

The two arrows punched into the bear's hide, but did not make it waver in its direction. With its uninjured paw, it batted Tamlen's shield with enough force to send him flying into the stone wall, about six feet behind him. Tamlen hit the wall with a thud, his head rapping off the stonework with a _thwock_.

He slumped to the ground, sword and shield falling from his grasp as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The Bereskarn let out another roar and approached the fallen elf, ignoring another pair of Ronin's arrows to its hindquarters like they were flies.

_This is not good_, thought Ronin, drawing another pair of arrows. _He's going to marry Merril someday…I'm not going to stand here and let him be eaten!_

Ronin launched himself at the wall beside the Bereskarn, using an out-of-place stone as a makeshift step to jump onto the thing's back. Ronin wrinkled his nose as he nearly slipped on one of the blood smeared spines growing out of its back.

It paused for an instant, its crazed mind trying to figure why it felt a sensation of weight upon its back. This hesitation allowed Ronin to draw his bow to full.

With a dull thrum, the pair of arrows, nearly parallel to each other, punched through the Bereskarn's skull and pierced its brain, ending its life before the conscious thought to rear was sent to its body.

It slumped heavily to the ground, its forward momentum sending Ronin tumbling over its shoulders to land heavily on his shoulder, a foot away from where Tamlen lay.

Ronin groaned as he pulled himself to his feet, replacing his bow on his back and looking over the dead beast and unconscious friend. "Well… that solves my problem."

With a grunt of effort, Ronin pulled the sleeping elf over his shoulders into a fireman's carry and walked back down the corridor, heading for the entrance of the cave. _He should be clear of the taint's reach from here._

He set Tamlen down at the mouth of the cave, hoping that no wolves would come along and try to eat him as he slept. His shield and sword were placed close at hand, should he awaken surrounded by predators.

Ronin quickly ran back to the Eluvian chamber, mentally preparing himself for the only thing he knew to do: touch the mirror.

_Of course, I have to hope I won't get sucked into the mirror or tainted so much that I become a ghoul… and that Duncan is still out here…this can't be good_, though Ronin as he trudged up the steps, stopping a foot away from the mirror.

A nervous smile crossed his lips as he looked over the writing surrounding the mirror. "Heh, do not touch the glass."

He quickly rapped the mirror with his knuckles, sending ripples through the surface as if it was water rather than glass. Then he turned his back on the image that was appearing, preferring not to see whatever it was that Tamlen saw.

A glow began, building in intensity until a force struck him, sending him flying off the raised platform. _If there's any Creators watching over me right now, help me be a Warden_, he thought as he flew.

He met the floor headfirst, sending him into the blackness of unconsciousness.

* * *

><p><em>~Your task is not over.~<em>

_~In peace, vigilance.~_

_~In war, victory.~_

_~In death, sacrifice.~_


	2. Waking Up

**AN:_HPB_update_scheduled_for_October_2**

_Okay… that's the last time I get that drunk_, thought Ronin as he sat up, eyes closed as to keep the light from his bedroom window from blinding him. He put his hands to his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before he pushed back the hair that fell in his face.

His fingers brushed the tips of his ears. _When did my ears go pointed?_

A new stab of pain in his head reminded him that he wasn't in his world anymore. _Right, I'm of the Dalish… not human anymore._

"You think he's going to be okay?" asked a somewhat familiar voice, sounding quite close.  
>Ronin put his hands over his ears as the words sent fresh waves of pain into his mind, much like a migraine cubed or a hangover squared.<p>

_That's Fenarel's voice if I'm not mistaken_, thought Ronin as he stood and opened his eyes, finding himself in an aravel. His dagger and quiver harness hung from a hook near the door, his cloak hanging next to it. His torso and forearm armor sat on a small table to his left. His boots were on the floor near the foot of the cot.

"He'll be fine," said a familiar voice in an unworried tone. _And that would be Tamlen! I did it! He's alive… and hopefully untainted by darkspawn corruption_, thought Ronin as he reached for his armor. _That's all I need…I save him from being sucked into the mirror to… who knows where and he contracts darkspawn taint._ "The Keeper's been healing him with the old magic."

He dressed quickly, throwing the leather armor on as fast as one can with a splitting headache. The straps gave him a little trouble, his fingers a little stiff and clumsy, but he managed all the same. He pulled the hood of his cloak low over his face, hoping to block any rays of bright, blinding sunlight from entering his eyes. Something told him it wouldn't help his aching head.

"You're awake!" said Fenarel, walking over to where Ronin stood. Noting the tightening of his clan brother's lips, Fenarel quickly lowered his voice as not to cause his lethallin undue pain.

"You've the god's own luck, lethallin," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "But, no matter. You're back at camp, safe. Everyone's worried sick about you. How do you feel?"

"Like the time Tamlen and I had a drinking match." Fenarel chuckled for a second before Ronin leveled a glare at him. He swallowed nervously, unnerved by the stoic hunter.

"How did I get here?"

"A shem brought you and Tamlen back two days ago. You don't remember him?"

"I don't remember anything," Ronin replied, rubbing his eyes. "I was in a cave… then nothing."

"The shem was a Grey Warden and he appeared out of nowhere with you slung over his shoulder. Tamlen was being half carried as well, leaning on the shem's shoulder to walk," said Fenarel in a low tone as he led Ronin over to a log where they could sit as he relayed the rest of his tale. "You were delirious with fever.

"He said he found you and Tamlen outside a cave in the forest, the both of you unconscious," Fenarel said. Ronin nodded slowly, already knowing most of the dialogue anyways. "He left you here and ran off again. Where do you think he went?"

"If he is a Grey Warden, who knows? The Wardens are a secretive bunch."

"True… anyways, the Keeper's been using the old magic to heal you," said Fenarel, suddenly straightening as he remembered something important. "The Keeper wanted to talk to you as soon as you awoke."

He sprang to his feet, holding out a hand to forestall Ronin's attempt to get to his feet. "Wait here. I'll get her."

_Dialogue with Fenarel: check_, thought Ronin as he drew one of his dar'misu and proceeded to clean the dirt from beneath his fingernails, a habit that both him and his Dalish counterpart seemed to have in common.

…that, and a penchant for pointy things.

Keeper Marethari walked up, a warm smile on her face as she saw Ronin. She reminded Ronin of his own grandmother, a tender woman who loved all her friends as much as she did her family. "I see that you're awake, da'len. It is fortunate Duncan found you when he did. I know not what dark power held you, but it nearly bled the life from you. It was difficult even for my magic to keep you alive."

"I'll assume this 'Duncan' you speak of is the shem who brought me back?" asked Ronin, already knowing the answer but asking for the sake of it.

"Yes. He introduced himself as a Grey Warden. I've seen him from time to time as we travel the forest and he patrols the land, but we haven't had the chance to be properly introduced," said Marethari, a smile playing about her lips. It quickly faded though, as her thoughts turned towards other things. "Duncan thought there might have been darkspawn creatures in the cave. Is that true?"

Ronin put up a mask of confusion. Of course, he knew there had been no darkspawn in the caves before he touched the mirror, but couldn't reveal that he knew there were darkspawn in there now. "There were a few giant spiders, a score of walking corpses, and something akin to a bear. Nothing else besides that."

"Walking corpses?" asked Marethari, thinking aloud. "Dark magic, but not darkspawn. I know not what the other creatures might have been. What else did you find? What is the last thing you remember?"

"A mirror," replied Ronin, sheathing his dar'misu.

"A mirror… and it caused an event that drew the attention of a Grey Warden? I have never heard of anything like this in all the lore we've collected," said Marethari, annoyed at the incompleteness of the elvish histories and lore. She sighed as Ronin and Tamlen's report on the cave did not answer the questions she needed answered. "I was hoping for answers when you awoke, but there are only more questions."

"I'm sorry, Keeper," said Ronin. _Strange…I actually feel guilty for being unable to change things outside my control for her_, Ronin thought. _The Dalish elf in me must be affecting me more than I thought…_

"It's not your fault, da'len," Marethari said, placing a hand on his shoulder in a comforting way. "Now, how are you feeling? I worked a great deal of magic healing you of your sickness."

"I feel fine. Ma serannas, Keeper, for caring for me."

"I care for everyone of the clan, da'len. You would do the same for me, were you in my place," said Marrethari, sitting on the log next to Ronin. Her features changed for a moment, quickly changing to that of a person with business to attend to. "Duncan returned to the cave to search for darkspawn, alone, despite my protests. Tamlen knows the way to the cave, but he wanted to wait for confirmation that you would survive whatever curse you were submitted to. Do you feel well enough to go with him to reinforce the Warden? You do not have to go if you are not feeling well enough."

Ronin inwardly flinched as the dialogue moved away from what he had accustomed himself to. _The dialogue is changing…a result of my meddling with the original storyline?_

"I am well enough to accompany Tamlen, Keeper."

"Very well, da'len. Take Merril with you. She has learned healing magic, should you, Tamlen, or Duncan need it," she said, rising gracefully to her feet. "Merril is by my aravel, reading some of the more difficult texts. Gather her and Tamlen when you are ready to go."

"We'll leave soon, Keeper," said Ronin, standing with the same grace as the elder.

Another elven woman was making her way over in his direction, prompting a raised eyebrow from Marethari. "It seems Ashalle has heard that you are awake, da'len."

"Should I be worried?" he queried, noting the blank look on his surrogate mother's face.

Marethari gave no answer. When Ronin turned back to look at her, the place she had occupied was empty. _By the Creators, she vanishes faster than a rogue!_

"Ronin!"

He turned back to face his Dalish mother figure, swinging his head right into her open left hand. A crack that made everyone in the vicinity wince was heard, the slap nearly knocking Ronin off his feet. He clutched at his face, glad that his vallaslin covered the redness that was sure to be there.

He was even more confused, however, when Ashalle threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.

"I thought we lost you, Ronin! By the Creators, it is good to see you whole and well," she blubbered, a few tears flowing down her face. "I was so worried."

"Aneth ara, Ashalle. It is good to see you as well," said Ronin, hugging her back.

"All that time you were ill… the Keeper didn't know if you were going to live or die. I stood outside the Keeper's aravel the whole time. I've never been so relieved as when I heard that you would pull through. What happened?"

"We were exploring a cave. We both found a mirror. That's all I remember." The lie came easily, as it was necessary to hide his knowledge of past, present, and future events.

"I'm glad both of you came out alright. Tamlen and you have been such good friends, ever since you were fledglings," she said. A stern look appeared on her face. "You must be more careful. Your mother and father, may they rest in peace, would be horrified to see you take such risks!"

"Abelas, Ashalle. I will try to be more careful," said Ronin, properly chagrined. A point of interest made itself known from his Dalish memories. "You've never spoken of my parents much, Ashalle."

"What happened to them is a sad tale and it's in the past," she said, evading the statement. "Reopening old wounds benefits no one."

"Don't we Dalish strive to learn from our past?" asked Ronin, using that Coercion skill he always put the points in. _I have been told I can be quite persuasive when I want to be._

"True…perhaps your old enough to hear this, though it… hardly seems like the right time."

"Is there ever a good time for sad tales?"

"Very well. If I do not tell you now, you will only wonder. Your mother was a hunter, one of the finest, and your father was the Keeper, before Marethari. He was with us for a very long time," she said, smiling as she relived the memories.

_He must have been a good Keeper_, thought Ronin, watching Ashalle grin.

"Your mother was from another clan and her elders did not approve of the match. She and your father had to meet in secret."

Ashalle paused there, as if she was trying to put the words together. "One day, bandits… caught them alone in the forest. Your father was killed, but your mother escaped."

"Humans killed my father?" queried Ronin as he felt a small amount of hatred for humans well up inside him. _This is very strange… I am not impressed with my… former species. I swear I'm going to give myself a headache with all this over thinking._

"…yes, but also city elves, too. Those of our kind living with humans do not hold to the old ways," she said, as if she knew that he was starting a heavy dislike for humans. "Your mother held to life long enough to give birth to you. But grief wracked her heart. One night, she… she simply walked into the moonlight and never returned."

"I don't know what to say…" said Ronin. Despite knowing the story beforehand, it was something different entirely to have his Dalish side react to the news.

"The clan decided not to discuss this around you, lest it poison your heart with sadness," said Ashalle, placing a hand on Ronin's shoulder, concern plain on her face.

"I… understand…" said Ronin, both sides of him understanding the need for secrecy.

"Our people have learned to live with much sorrow. It seemed only right that we not dwell on it," She said as she reached up to her neck and removed a chain with a simple key hanging from it. "Your mother did leave you a few gifts, some things of your father's and your mother's for you to have when you were older. Perhaps the time has come."

"I'm not sure if I want it."

"Don't say that. This is part of your heritage. Take this key. It opens the chest in my aravel, the black one I've told you not to open. Its contents are yours should you wish."

"Ma serannas, Ashalle. I will see you later. The Keeper has asked me to assist the Warden."

"I will see you then, da'len."

With a final pat on the shoulder, Ashalle left Ronin, heading back to her aravel.

Ronin looped the chain around his neck and tucked the key beneath his armor. _I'll care for this after I help Duncan_, he thought, giving the key a pat.

_Now… to find hahren Paivel... if memory serves, he's by the fire._

True to the game, the elderly elf was next to a large fire, idly sitting and watching the flames. He stood quickly, however, as Ronin approached, weaving between other elves going about their business within the camp. For an elder, Paivel moved quite gracefully, much like Marethari.

_Perhaps it's natural for elves to be graceful?_

"So… you've returned to us, da'len," he said in greetings, a stern look on his face. "We are grateful you are whole and well."

"I'm glad to be here, as well, hahren," replied Ronin, already grimacing inwardly as he knew Paivel would be voicing his displeasure about his actions very soon.

"So you should be!" Paivel said, his voice rising in anger. _There it is_, thought Ronin, taking a step back as to distance him from the angered elder. "What were you two thinking, wandering into that cave without first coming to tell the Keeper!"

"You're right, hahren. We should have come back here, first," Ronin said in a low tone, feeling properly chastised. _First Ashalle, now Paivel? Who else is going to rub this in my face?_

"I suppose your youth can be forgiven," grumbled Paivel, his tone becoming less angry. "Luckily, neither of you came to such harm that the Keeper could not cure you."

Paivel sat back upon the log he had occupied, patting a place next to him in invitaion. Ronin complied, sitting next to him by the fire.

"Losing either of you would be a terrible crime, Ronin. You belong to more than just yourself. Or do you not remember?"

"My memory is as sharp as ever, hahren. I'm sorry. I'll try harder next time."

Paivel sighed. "Would you even know the reason behind your efforts? I wonder…"

A group of elf children were playing nearby, their giggles and laughter drawing the elder's gaze. A smile played over his lips, remembering when he was that young. He looked at Ronin out of the corner of his eye, nodding his head at the fledglings. "Let us tell these children of the fall of the Dales. You can honor me by sharing in the telling."

"It would be my honor, hahren."

"Come, then… help me as I go along.

"Children!" he called, drawing their attention. A wave of his hand had them scurrying to seat themselves in front of the aged storyteller and the famed hunter. "Hear of the fall of the Dales. Hear the tale of what makes you Dalish."

Paivel looked at the rogue next to him. "Would you care to begin, da'len?"

Ronin nodded, ready to play his part in the telling. _I always enjoy hearing this story_.

"Long ago, we were slaves to the humans," he began. Much to his surprise, Paivel waved his hand for him to continue. "Slaves to a terrible empire the humans built on the darkest magic. When it fell, we became free."

"We built a homeland in the Dales, worshipping the Creators and rebuilding the culture and history we lost in our long years of slavery," regaled Paviel, starting his own part of the telling. "But the humans would not let us be."

"They were resentful; because we would not worship their gods, and because we put our people first," continued Ronin, retelling the tale he had committed to memory long ago, after his second play-through of the Dalish origin. "Over the years, their nations grew cold toward the Dales. In their eyes, we were blasphemers and cruel tyrants. Soon after, the humans then declared war upon the Dales, a holy war called an Exalted March."

"Originally, the human nation known as the Orlesian Empire was the only attacker of our ancestors. We responded with such fury that the Empire could not handle us themselves. Only after the Empire was joined by other human nations were we pushed back," Paivel said, causing a raised eyebrow from Ronin.

_Strange… not part of the original dialogue, yet correct all the same._

"And so the Dales fell. They took our land and dispersed our people, forcing us to live in their cities and abandon our gods," continued Ronin as Paivel fell silent, taking it as his cue to tell more of the story. "But many of us refused to relinquish our ways. We instead chose to scatter to the winds, wandering the lands."

"We chose wandering the lands rather than the human rule," said Paivel as Ronin paused for breath. "To survive and preserve our culture, the clans stay apart until the day the Elvhenan have a homeland once more."

"When that day comes, we shall return the old ways to those who have lost them," said Ronin, both Dalish and human sides believing it to be true.

Both Paivel and Ronin spoke at once, reciting the Oath of the Dales.

"We are the Dalish, keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan. Never again shall we submit."

The children clapped as the story was brought to a close and then ran off, already discussing what game they were going to play next.

Paivel smiled and shook his head, knowing that, someday, they would realize how much the Oath means to every Dalish elf. "Thank you for your forbearance, Ronin. You remember both the tale and the Oath of the Dales perfectly."

"I was taught by the best, hahren."

Paivel smiled wider, reaching up to ruffle his hair, much like he used to do to a younger Ronin. "I will let you get back to your tasks, da'len. May the gods guide your path."

"And you as well, hahren," said Ronin, bowing his head respectfully to the elder before he left, leaving Paivel by the fire.

_Last stop before finding Tamlen: Master Ilen_, Ronin thought, running a hand over the fletching of the arrows in his quiver. _Even if I don't get the bow, I cold use some arrows to replenish my quiver._

Ronin scowled darkly as he remembered the number of walking corpses in the cave. Two would have been easy to deal with, as he had expected them. Not the score of enemies he had faced, their numbers surprising him more than anything. Defeating them was easy despite their numbers due to their lack of combat prowess.

_If this trend continues, like in _Life on Thedas' _undead assault at Redcliffe, I might need to pack a lot more arrows than usual._

Master Ilen was at his aravel, same as the game, talking to another elf, a bow in hand. Behind him was a table, filled with lengths of ironbark, tools, bundles of arrows and a few dar'misu and dar'misaan. "It is good to see that you've recovered from your injuries, Ronin."

"Aneth ara, Master Ilen. How are you?"

"Well enough, now that I know that both you and Tamlen returned safely," he said, handing the bow to the other elf. "Here you are, Theron."

"Ma serannas for the bow, Master Ilen. It is light and sturdy, much better than the one I made last year."

"You are more than welcome, da'len," said Ilen, smiling at the enthusiastic hunter. "My father made it and used it in battle against the Clayne tribes."

Ronin leveled a glare at Theron. "You will take great care of it, won't you, lethallin?" throwing him a quick smile as show he was just making fun.

"Of course, Ronin. I will carry it with honor."

Ronin nodded before turning back to Ilen. "Master Ilen, I would hear the tale of your father's battle against the Clyane, if you have the time."

"I am honored to tell it," said Ilen.

"Our clan was one of the first to flee the Dales. When we came to Ferelden, the fiercest of the shemlen were the barbarians known as the Clayne," he regaled, watching the hunters' eyes almost glow with interest. "We did not wait for them to attack us. Every Dalish clan in Ferelden united to bring the battle to them."

"We attacked them first? Sounds like a good strategy," said Theron. Ronin nodded in agreement. _A very sound tactic… we would have lost the element of surprise had we waited._

"The Clayne were barbarians without honor. They would have slain us without a second thought. The ensuing battle went well for us. That day, we carved out our reputation of being the deadliest of archers. Our arrows won us the right to wander these wilds at will."

Ilen paused and looked at the bow in Theron's hands. "It was this very bow that my father used that day."

"Thank you for the tale, Master Ilen, and especially the bow. I will honor its history," said Theron, holding the bow reverently.

"Yes, thank you for the tale, Master Ilen," Ronin said. He unlimbered his own bow and held it out to the Craftmaster. _While I'm here, I might as well see if my bow measures up to the standards of the Master. I will need the best gear I can when I join the Wardens._

"Would you give me your opinion of my bow, Master?"

Ilen took the bow and looked it over, humming and talking himself as he tested the bow. "Made from blue ironbark… very strong… draw weight of forty five pounds… top heavy… imperfection on the handle, possibility of breaking if overdrawn…" Ilen muttered, running a critical eye over the bow. "You made this yourself?"

Ronin winced as each flaw was announced. Memories of long hours crafting that bow a few months ago surfaced, making him feel all the more disappointed in himself for not creating a perfect bow. "Yes, Master Ilen. Two months ago."

"Your first attempt at using ironbark?"

"Yes. I had used whitewood, but it broke a few months ago when I was attacked by a bear. After that, I wanted to make a bow with a stronger material."

"Not bad for a beginner. Why did you choose a recurve style?" asked Ilen, curious.

"As a hunter, I need to be accurate. Longbows generally have more hand-shock, making them less accurate. That, and it easier to use in the forest."

Ilen nodded thoughtfully as he turned to his aravel and walked inside, bringing Ronin's both with him. Theron and Ronin exchanged glances, unsure of whether to follow or remain where they were.

Before either could choose either action, Ilen reappeared, carrying a second bow.

"Here," he said as he tossed Ronin the new bow. "Try this one."

Ronin caught the bow and looked it over. It was made of blue ironbark, just as his was, though he could not find any flaws with his un-experienced eyes. It was painted in splotches, much like Ronin's cloak, making it blend with the forest.

Ronin nodded at Ilen and walked over to the front of the aravel, putting him in sight of the archery targets for the young fledglings and city elves new to the Dalish way to practice on. He pulled one of his black arrows from his quiver and nocked it.

An experimental draw had him raising an eyebrow. _A heavier draw than my old bow_, he thought as he drew his fingers back to his lips. A few adjustments due to wind and distance to target preceded the arrow's launch.

With a satisfying thud, the arrow sunk into the target a hand span higher than Ronin intended.

"Well done, Ronin. Especially with an unfamiliar bow," said Ilen, clapping the rogue on the back. "The bow has a much higher draw weight, so it may take some getting used to."

Ronin looked over his shoulder at the Craftmaster. "You're giving me the bow?"

"Of course. One of my own crafting, back when I was a bit younger. I can always make another and you need a replacement, lest your bow fail you in a critical moment."

"Ma serannas, Master Ilen," said Ronin, bowing his head to the elder elf.

"Think nothing of it. A bow like that should be used, not left in an aravel to rot," said Ilen, waving away Ronin's thanks. "It may not have a history, but you shall supply one soon enough, yes? Now, I must return to my work."

Ronin placed the bow on his back, making a note to start retraining himself on this new bow. He started to walk away, but turned back when he remembered an important job he needed to do. "Master Ilen, do you have any arrows that I may buy?"

Ilen paused for a moment, turning back to the hunter. "Of course. Come, we will talk business."

Ten minutes later, Ronin left with a bundle of ninety-nine arrows, lighter two sovereigns.

_Now that I am reequipped, time to help Duncan…where's Tamlen gotten off to now__? _

After Ronin put the bundle of arrows in the Ashalle's aravel, he looked to the edges of the camp, looking for a certain elf with vallaslin dedicated to Andruil. He was surprised to not find him anywhere close, seeing how he was the one who was hurt. The least he could have done was make sure he was all right after the Keeper talked with him. _When I find him, I'll probably find Merril as well…_

After a quick walk around the perimeter of the camp, Ronin found the pair sitting side by side beneath a tree. They were holding hands, Merril's bearing a Dalish promise ring, which made Ronin smile. _It's nice to see a little happiness in such chaos._

Of course, this made Ronin think back to his games. _Now, I wonder what will happen in Dragon Age II…_

Deciding to leave the unanswered questions as they are, Ronin walked over to the pair, treading carefully as to not disturb them._ It looks like they're asleep._

Merril's head was leaning on Tamlen's shoulder while his head was leaning back against the tree. Both were not moving, sans an occasional twitch from their limbs. Deep, even breaths confirmed Ronin's theory, both dead to the world.

Ronin hated to disturb them, being at peace with each other and all, but they had a job to do. He threw back his hood, placed his hand on Tamlen's shoulder and gave it a small shake, trying to wake Tamlen as quietly as possible as to not disturb Merril. "Tamlen? Wake up… we have work to do."

Tamlen groaned as he opened his eyes, blinking blearily against the light of the sun. "Wha… oh, Ronin. We headed out?"

Ronin nodded, smiling the whole time.

Tamlen nodded and proceeded to wake Merril, gently shaking her shoulder as to not shock her right out of sleep. Last time he had done that, he woke up an hour later with a splitting headache and a lump on his head.

Mages abruptly awakened sometimes react badly, automatically using a mind blast spell or some other self-defense spell.

"Mmm?" Merril awoke slowly, rubbing the bleariness out of her eyes. She jerked back as she saw the cloaked form of Ronin almost blending in with the background as he leaned on another tree. "Ah, Ronin. Time to go to the cave?"

Ronin nodded and put his hood back on before walking away, already retracing his steps to lead them back to the cave. He fell into an easy walk, his long strides soundless against the forest. He was soon out of sight, leaving Tamlen and Merril scrambling to stand.

Tamlen helped Merril to her feet, gave her a quick kiss, and followed Ronin, easily catching up with the loping hunter. His hands strayed close to his belt, where his sword was sheathed. After facing giant spiders, walking corpses and a bear like creature, he decided it best to err on the side of caution.

Merril fell into step behind Tamlen, looking through her pack for her lyrium potions and healing supplies, just in case they had to fight any more of the creatures Tamlen had told her about. _Hopefully, I won't have to use any of it._

After walking through the forest for half an hour, the terrain became familiar to the pair. The path that led to the cave curved around a small ravine, leading to where the fallen halla and the wolves had been.

"You think the wolf corpses are still there?" asked Ronin in a low voice, nodding to the other side of the depression. "I could use a wolf skin rug for when winter comes."

"I doubt it, but it would be a nice surprise to see them," replied Tamlen. "They were beautiful creatures. I wish we didn't have to kill them."

The sound of a twig snapping had Ronin's ears twitching, his eyes shooting over to where the noise emanated from. Some sort of slight tug from within him made him search for the darkspawn he knew to be around. A low buzzing filled his ears, like television static. _Is this how Wardens sense darkspawn?_

"Did you hear that?" he asked, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow.

Tamlen drew his sword and readied his shield at Ronin's question, taking note of the alarm in his lethallin's voice. "What?"

Merril readied her staff, ready to cast any spells should an attacker show himself. "What is it, Ronin?" she asked, her eyes searching their surroundings.

Ronin scanned the area, thinking that it was much easier in the game to spot the darkspawn, especially with the automatic targeting of enemies.

_There!_ A genlock archer was drawing his bow to full extension, a black, wicked looking arrow almost ready to be launched.

Smoothly, Ronin drew his own bow, touched the fletching to his lips, dropped the bow a fraction of an inch, and released. _Please let me hit him, please let me hit him!_

Much to his relief, the arrow flew perfectly, hitting the genlock in the eye. The impact had the darkspawn flip backwards, landing in a heap while his arrow flew over the elves' heads.

"What are those things?" asked Tamlen as he stepped in front of Merril, raising his shield to deflect any more arrows. Merril smiled at Tamlen for his gesture as she launched an arcane bolt at another genlock who was unwise enough to stick his head out of the bushes.

"The Keeper mentioned something about darkspawn," hissed Merril, tracking the genlock who had just taken an arcane bolt to the face. It tried to rise, a hand raised to its ruined face, before a second arcane bolt struck him, punching through his skull and turning his brain to splatters against the foliage. "Perhaps that is what these… things are?"

Ronin pulled a new arrow from his quiver before slipping into the shadows, becoming, for all intents and purposes, invisible. Merril quickly looked around, trying to find the rogue with no success. Tamlen merely accepted the fact, knowing that, while his friend was, for all intents and purposes, invisible, he was still around.

"Tamlen, guard Merril," said Ronin, his voice emanating from a bush not that far away from the mage and warrior. "I will surprise them."

Tamlen nodded and shifted his shield, catching an arrow from a third genlock. "Hurry. I think I see some melee fighters. If they get close, I'm gonna have a hard time blocking Merril from the archers."

Ronin crept forward, moving as quickly as possible while in 'stealth' mode, flanking the darkspawn. He bared his teeth in a grin, adding a second arrow to his bow string. A second later, an archer and a rogue tumbled to the ground with one of Ronin's black arrows sprouting from a chink in their armor.

Ronin slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his daggers as a pair of genlocks closed in on his position, screaming unintelligible war cries. He grinned as he noted a quickly fading glow on one of them, which indicated that the genlock on his left side was under the effects of a weakness spell. It slowed down, letting the other charge to his doom.

The genlock swung overhand at Ronin, trying to slice his torso open with the long sword it wielded. It was surprised when its blade hit nothing but dirt, as Ronin had already moved out of its attack.

His main hand dar'misu sliced across its throat, releasing a large amount of blood as its heart pumped it through the gaping wound. The darkspawn sank to its knees, dropping its sword in its haste to try and stop the bleeding.

Ronin didn't hang around to watch the genlock die. The second genlock walked forward, on guard after seeing its partner killed so easily. The elf smiled at the short darkspawn, staring down at the sword wielder.

With a raised blade, the simple darkspawn charged, seeking flesh and blood. Its simplemindedness allowed Ronin to step out of its path and stab it in the stomach as it charged. The stab was quickly followed up by a slash to its kidney and hamstring, its rotting leather armor parting easily beneath an ironbark blade.

The slight tugging in him ceased, the buzz melting away. Ronin sheathed his blades as he beckoned to his allies on the other side of the depression. "Come on! That was the last of them."

Tamlen nodded, straightening from his crouch behind his shield. He held his sword parallel to his shield and brushed it down the shield, snapping the arrow shafts off his shield. Merril raised her staff to a vertical position and followed Tamlen, stepping around the darkspawn Ronin had slain. "Thank you for the save, Ronin."

Ronin shrugged noncommittally as he walked over to meet the pair, noting another pair of archers who had been killed by magic. "You would have done the same for me."

Merril pushed over a corpse with the butt of her staff, looking down on the tainted creature. "I've never seen anything like them! You can almost smell the evil on them."

She looked over at Ronin, who was crouched over a genlock, contemplating whether or not it was worth it to pull the arrow from its tainted corpse. "Where did they come from? Where they here before?"

Ronin shook his head, leaving his arrow where it lay. "Maybe the mirror had something to do with it…"

"What would darkspawn have to do with our people?" Merril asked, confused. "The stories say that Arlathan fell long before the darkspawn appeared."

Tamlen slung his shield on his back, starting to head down the path. "We'll find out soon enough. Let's hope we don't run into more."

Merril laid a hand on Tamlen's shoulder, stopping him from proceeding, before turning to look at Ronin. "Before we go, are you all right? Were you wounded during the battle?"

"I'm fine… why do you ask?" replied Ronin, not believing the words from his own mouth. He could feel the taint, feel the darkness in his blood. _I can't stop now… I have to join the Wardens._

"You _do_ look quite pale, now that Merril's mentioned it," said Tamlen, stepping closer to look at Ronin's face. _His vallaslin is standing out a lot more than usual._

"It's just the exertion," said Ronin, pulling his cowl lower over his brow.

"Well… I'll keep an eye on you. You've only just recovered from you illness," said Merril, laying a hand on Ronin, ducking slightly as to see his eyes beneath his cloak. "But let us not talk about that now. We should move on."

Ronin and Tamlen nodded as one before moving further down the path, senses strained to hear any signs of opposition.

A minute later, they came upon the dead halla Ronin and Tamlen had found two days previously. Both were happily surprised when they removed the brush they had laid over the wolf corpses to find a folded pair of neatly skinned wolf hides, teeth and claws still attached. A strange circular amulet sat on each one, which Merril claimed was a preservation charm. This explained why the hides seemed freshly skinned rather than rotted as one would expect after two days.

"You think this 'Duncan' the Keeper mentioned did this?" asked Tamlen as he packed away one of the skins, keeping the amulet against it. He'd tan it later, when he had time.

Ronin shrugged, tucking the other skin under his cloak. "Maybe."

"Hey, Tamlen? What's that?" asked Merril, pointing down the path.

A simple campsite was set up at a bend in the path. A small fire pit sat in the middle of the clearing, a rolled up bedroll a few feet away.

Ronin put his hands close to the ashes, noting the slight amount of heat that remained. "It's warm. Put out maybe an hour ago."

"I wonder whose campsite this is…" said Merril as she placed a hand on the bedroll, feeling for residual heat. "Do you remember it being here?"

Ronin shook his head, settling back on his haunches with a burnt twig in hand. "No. It's fresh…"

Tamlen took the stick from Ronin, twirling it absentmindedly between his fingers. He snapped his fingers, an answer coming to him. "Perhaps it belongs to the shem who found us."

"Maybe your right. He told the Keeper he would be heading back to the cave," Merril said. "Well he's not here now. Maybe he's at th- do you hear that?"

Both the hunters froze in their positions, their armor and weapons making no noise as the pair turned into statues of flesh and blood. They slowly turned their heads, ears twitching in an attempt to sense anything out of the ordinary.

"It's too quiet," said Ronin, noting the absence of background noises except for the rustling of the leaves in the wind. No birdcalls. No soft footfalls of animals. Even the sound of insects had faded away. The forest sounded… empty to the elves.

Tamlen nodded in agreement. "No forest creatures."

"Exactly! The forest it too… still," she remarked in a low tone, eyes searching the forest. "There's something in the air, something unnatural."

"I feel the same way I did when we were in the cave, Ronin," said Tamlen, watching the forest with wary eyes.

"I don't like this," said Ronin as he placed an arrow on his bow. "Be on your guard."

"It seems that whatever you two woke in the cave has… spread outside," said Merril, swing her staff into a ready position. "The sooner we find the cave and the Grey Warden, the sooner we can leave."

Tamlen and Ronin nodded before walking further down the path, on the look out for more darkspawn. _I know there's more…_ thought Ronin, uneasy at how few darkspawn there were at the first confrontation. _There were four or five in the actual game play…so I'm guessing we're about to encounter at least half a dozen…or more._

They had turned the final corner of the path to the cave when the trio caught sight of a large group of genlocks, amassed right outside the mouth of the cave, grunting and shuffling around. Their armor was made of some crude-looking, black metal, their weapons no better, both covered in barbs and spikes. A film on a few of the blades made Ronin think of poisons, making a mental note to avoid being cut.

From this distance, Ronin could smell the corruption, a scent of rotting flesh mixed with the coppery tang of blood and the foulness of death.

Ronin held up his fist from his position a few meters ahead of Tamlen and Merril, signaling them to halt. Keeping as still as possible, Ronin relayed the information regarding their position.

At Tamlen's raised eyebrow and Merril's look of disbelief, Ronin crept back to the group and allowed himself to become visible. "What's wrong with my plan?"

"When you mess up, you run the risk of _dieing_," said Merril.

"That's 'if' I mess up, not 'when,'" Ronin said, correcting Merril's slip. He shrugged off his quiver and took a quick tally, which had him letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

The quiver held twenty-eight arrows, more than enough to end the group that barred the path to the cave. _Though... how many more are within?_

"It doesn't matter! A mistake could cost you your life!" hissed Merril, clutching her staff while eyeing the bend, expecting the darkspawn to pour around it at any moment.

Ronin slung his quiver back around his shoulders and buckled it tight, making sure that no loose straps or buckles could make a sound. He turned back to the bend in the path, looking over his shoulder at the warrior and mage. "Unless you have a better plan, we will follow mine."

Merril opened her mouth, as if to speak, but closed it a second later. With a sigh, she said, "Fine, then. We will follow your plan."

Tamlen nodded, having agreed to the plan as soon as Ronin suggested it. "I agree," he said, unlimbering his blade and shield. "You'll sneak over and cut into the beasts before they know what's happening. When they try to mount a counter, you'll run back around the bend, leading them to their deaths by Merril's flame blast."

Ronin took a deep breath, let it out, and vanished, leaving the pair standing alone.

Merril took up her position in the center of the path and shoved her staff into the ground, letting it support itself so she could cast the flame spell with both hands. Tamlen stood off to the side, his weapons close at hand should Merril's attack miss one or two of the darkspawn.

"Now, we wait..." he said.


	3. Someting in the Mirror

**Need_some_help._I'm_looking_for_an_Avatar_Last_Airbender_story_where_they_go_back_in_time_using_four_magical_items.**

Ronin growled in pain as he turned himself over, trying to disturb his arm as little as possible in the confines of the ravine he now lay in. The lowest point was just wide enough for his shoulders to fit while lying flat

'_Battle plans never survive contact with the enemy.' von Moltke_, thought Ronin as he felt his shoulder, and touched the black arrow that protruded from his freshly wounded appendage. One of the darkspawn archers had tagged him as he ran back down the path.

_Very true…_ he thought as he snapped the arrow near the barbed tip, his other fist clenched in an attempt to take his mind off the pain. As the larger half of the arrow shaft was removed through the newly made hole in the armor, its smaller counterpart shifted enough to release a fresh trickle of blood that flowed from the wound down to his bicep between the hardened sheets of leather before dripping to the ground. _I've been like this before… 'cept I was sixteen… and not bleeding._

"Ronin?" floated Tamlen's voice from above, his tone worried. "Are you alright?"

* * *

><p>Moving as quickly as possible while blending in with the foliage, Ronin stalked towards the darkspawn, both ironbark blades held at the ready should they detect him before he was within striking range.<p>

The ten of them were chattering in one large clump, grunting and shoving each other. Three of them had gnarled short bows made of ash over their shoulders, hooked on quivers filled with wicked looking arrows. Two of them held a longsword in their dirty hands, the blades rusty, pitted, and cracked in places, but sturdy enough to pierce his armor should the opportunity arise. The others held daggers of various lengths, some covered with a film that was either poison or the rotting remnants of previous kills. Their blades, like the longswords, were in similar states of deterioration, rust and cracks more prominent than actual steel.

Quietly, Ronin slid into their midst, sliding between two of them when they turned their backs on each other. He had to be much more careful now, seeing how he was close enough to touch the darkspawn. That fact went both ways, as he was now in range of their weapons should they detect him.

_Alright, pick one that's isolated…_ thought Ronin as he crept through the genlocks, feeling glad that the true Ronin had been very proficient in rogue abilities. _This would be impossible if he didn't know stealth._

One gunlock turned abruptly as Ronin was passing behind him, beady little eyes searching for anything amiss. This action nearly gave Ronin a heart attack, thinking he had been discovered. He froze up, halting all motion as he stood two feet away from the darkspawn.

_Move_, shouted his instincts, almost jarring him into action at the feeling of familiar actions. Then his instincts told him not to move, the same sense of familiarity filling him.

_What is going on here? One second I want to move, the next I don't want to…what the hell? More hesitation like that will get me wounded… or worse, killed_, Ronin thought, his heart rate climbing to panic levels.

Luckily, the darkspawn did not perceive any threats behind him and turned back, assuming its original stance amongst it brethren. Ronin breathed easier as he left behind his physical and mental predicaments and focused on setting up an attack vector and escape route for when he struck.

With a flick of his wrist, he slit the throat of one of the longsword bearers, leaving him to drop his sword with a thump and grasp at his throat as he fell. The gurgling sounds he made as he tried to breathe quickly called the other's attention to their newly dead compatriot.

_Assuming that the genlocks of _Dragon Age_ share scaled characteristics of humans, I've cut both the carotid artery and the jugular vein. Unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds and death in two minutes, max, _thought Ronin, as he came to stand behind another darkspawn at the back of the group. He had evacuated the area as soon as his blade had cleared the first victim's throat, leaving a corpse to draw attention so he could strike from behind. The nine left immediately approached their fallen comrade, grunting in their unintelligible language at the sight of one of their own lying in a pool of its own blood.

Flipping his offhand blade around so that his blade now faced in, he stabbed the blade into the flesh that lay between the genlock's right shoulder and neck. With his arm now looped around the darkspawn's neck, he dragged his blade from one side of the genlock to the other, slicing through the top half of its lungs, a few major arteries in its neck, and maybe a nicked the aorta.

When he withdrew his dagger from what remained of the creature's neck, the blade came away with a sickening _schlock_ and an arterial spray of foul blood, alerting the others to his presence behind them as the blood splattered against their dirty skin.

_Oh, shit_, was all that was going through his mind as he leapt forward, diving between a pair with blade outstretched in each hand, aiming for the jugular as to take as many darkspawn out of the battle as he could before he ran back to Merrill and Tamlen. He connected with one, the other dodging out of his way with a quick sidestep. His athleticism challenged partner did not fare as well as he did, receiving a large cut through one side of his neck.

Ronin rolled out of the dive, neatly ducking under the other longsword's bloodthirsty length as he went back to his feet. Four darkspawn corpses now littered the forest floor, leaving the other sword bearer and all four archers standing.

_Less enemies means less threats to the others_, he thought as he spun on his heel, leaning back as to avoid being stabbed by the longsword while his knives flashed out to attack the leg of one and the jaw of another. He connected with the leg, severing the femoral artery, but missed the throat, leaving that genlock prepare to counter. His partner grasped at his leg in a vain attempt to slow the bleeding, sinking to the ground as he pushed his palms into his thigh.

The fact that he'd killed four genlocks in less than two minutes did not lighten Ronin's heart as he remembered what the Dragon Age Wiki and game experience had taught him:

Genlocks are the most numerous breed of darkspawn. They're short, stocky, and easily killed. But in large enough groups, they can present a problem for trained warriors or even a seasoned Warden.

Ronin recovered his balance by dancing back a step, narrowly dodging an arrow that sped past his head as he did so, the fletching grazing his hair as it flew. He looked over his handiwork, noting that, of the four archers, two had now unlimbered their bows and one of them had an arrow nocked to the gut string.

"Now might be a good time to retreat," he said as he sheathed his blades and turned tail, charging back down the path as fast as his elven body could move. Judging by the footfalls that followed, a couple of the genlocks were giving chase, but not all.

His theory was confirmed when he heard the _fwap _of a bowstring and felt a fist impact his left shoulder, sending him tumbling off the path instead of taking the corner where Tamlen and Merrill were waiting to spring the trap.

Merrill and Tamlen stood by the bend in the path, Merrill with her hands raised while Tamlen held his shield in a ready position, his sword point first in the ground. Between Merrill's hands was a lick of flame, ready to become a raging inferno of conjured fire at the mage's whim.

It was surprising for them, to say the least, when Ronin, instead of taking the corner, was struck by an arrow and fell into the ravine.

Merrill gasped and nearly let the flame die away as she watched one of her clan-mates tumble down the ravine after being shot. The flame, nearly out, was brought back to full intensity in an instant as six darkspawn ran to the edge of the ravine, looking for the elf they had just shot over the drop.

* * *

><p><em>Not-brother shot, fall out of sight, dead?<em> thought the genlock as it hurried with its brothers to the edge, looking for the one who was like them but not.

_No… not dead… feel tug…_ it felt at the bond, knowing it would not be very long before the not-brother became full-brother

_~Crack~_ a sound interrupted its thoughts, turning its attention elsewhere.

_Sound… twig snap? _it thought, tilting its head as he turned.

_Fire-scent?_

The genlock turned to the left, looking for the source of the noise, only to find a pair of elves standing not three paces away from it and its brothers. It paused, confused at the presence of fire-scent.

The pause only took a half a second, in which the genlock saw the small lick of flame held in the hands of the female elf.

It was too long.

* * *

><p>Merrill unleashed a giant cone of flame, flames so hot they appeared white rather than orange. She poured her fear – fear that she had lost someone who mattered to her – and her fury – fury caused by those who hurt her clan – into the spell. Her emotions added fuel to the flames, causing them to be so much more powerful than normal.<p>

And more dangerous.

"Die!" she screamed, flexing her hands as she redoubled her efforts, her actions sending a new wave of flame jetting at the darkspawn. The closest corpse was cremated, reduced to ashes and glowing scraps of metal, its armor and hide providing no protection against the inferno it found itself in the heart of. "Just die!"

Tamlen, seeing the rage on her face and the amount of mana she was expending, reached out and grabbed her arm, forcing her attention elsewhere on the off chance that Ronin was clambering back up the ravine towards the magically conjured flames. "Be still, Merrill. Ronin might be climbing up the ravine!"

She nodded, shaken out of her fury induced tunnel vision, and let the cone of flame die away, leaving only the remnants and ashes of the genlocks to mark its brief existence.

Merrill hung her head, breathing deeply as the full weight of her actions fell upon her, leaving her weaker than what she should have been. "I'm sorry, lethallin."

"Do not apologize. We've killed the darkspawn and the path is clear. Let's look after our brother before we do anything else." With those words and a reassuring embrace, Tamlen walked over to the edge of the ravine.

"Do you see him?" asked Merrill, leaning on her staff due to her recent mana expenditure.

"Not yet," said Tamlen, squinting down at the foliage beneath his position. "Ronin? Are you alright?"

* * *

><p>Ronin scowled as he pulled himself to his knees, shaking his head as if it would ward off the pain radiating from his shoulder. "I have an arrow in my shoulder and I'm at the bottom of a ravine. Do I <em>sound<em> alright?"

A low chuckle was heard from above, muffled as if behind someone's hand. _Merrill, no doubt_, thought Ronin as he began to crawl up the ravine, using one of his daggers as an anchor point to drag himself up steeper slopes. His shoulder screamed at him with every movement that jostled his armor, making the skin around the wound stretch painfully taut. "I can hear you, Merrill!"

He was halfway up the slope when Tamlen appeared; bouncing off the tilted trees that grew along the embankment and using his hunting knife as an anchor point should he land on unsure footing. "Aneth ara, lethallin. Care for a hand?"

Ronin shot him a look, loaded with equal parts with annoyance and happiness, as he sheathed his blade and grasped Tamlen's outstretched hand. "Watch the shoulder. Arrowhead's still in."

"Understood," said Tamlen, looping his clansmen's arm over his shoulder. With Ronin being helped by Tamlen, the path towards the top was easily traversed now that Ronin was not hindered as much by his injury.

"Ronin!" called Merrill as her light-haired intended and his cloak-covered friend came into view as Tamlen slashed at an offending branch of a shrub growing in their path. "How bad is your arm?"

With a groan, Ronin and Tamlen flopped over the edge of the ravine and lay on the level ground, Tamlen on his back gasping for air and Ronin on his knees, his wounded left arm cradled in his right.

"I may need healing, Merrill, once someone removes the arrowhead," growled out Ronin as he released his arm into his lap so he could reach for the straps of his armor, aggravating the leftover shaft of the arrow. The slowness of his movements was noticed by Merrill.

"Hold still." Small hands replaced his, brushing his away with a gentle touch. Merrill had dropped to her knees and started undoing the straps as soon as she noticed the pain it caused. She huffed in annoyance as she looked at the numerous fastenings of his armor, not to mention the strap oh his quiver/sheaths, shaking her head as she continued. "Is it necessary for hunters to have so many straps for their armor?"

Tamlen laughed as he examined the breach in Ronin's armor, his touch feather-light in case he accidently touched the arrow shaft remnants. "We need our armor secure, Merrill, because if anything is loose, it can make noise. Prey is scared off by strange noises."

Merrill nodded absentmindedly as she finished releasing all the straps and ties from their respective buckles and knots. "Raise your right arm, Ronin. We're going to slide off your armor now."

When his armor slid off with a rasp of leather on flesh, Ronin made no noise. He barely moved, other than a slight flexing of his jaw muscles as he ground his teeth. _Well, what do you know? Turns out the _true_ Ronin is used to pain… good thing I got that as well as my own resilience. Then again, Ronin sat through his Vallaslin, the complex version no less._

Tamlen whistled as he saw the wound in Ronin's shoulder, which was weeping blood, mostly from the journey back up the ravine. "They got you good, lethallin. Good thing your armor took the most of it… it didn't break your shoulder blade. "

"Excellent… my day is now complete," Ronin said, rolling his eyes. "Could you get. The arrowhead. Out!"

"Right, right," said Tamlen as he took out his hunting knife. "We start on three. Merrill… hold him."

"Do you want me to cast a sleep spell?" asked, Merrill as she braced Ronin, holding him as firmly as she could in their current position.

"One…"

Ronin looked over with a grim smile on his face. "Don't waste the mana. I caught some of that flame blast you used. You can't expend much more and still be able for combat."

"Three…"

"Three? What happened to-" Merrill queried before noting the pained expression on Ronin's face. A quick look over his shoulder had Merrill seeing Tamlen carefully carving a line through the entry wound and then digging out the arrowhead, all without Ronin moving so much as an inch. "Oh…"

After a few seconds, Tamlen pulled the arrowhead, a jagged piece of black, rusty iron, out of Ronin's shoulder. As soon as the arrowhead was out, Tamlen forced the wound's edges back together as best as he could with blood slicked hands. "Merrill, use one of your healing spells."

Merrill's hands began to glow a light blue as she shifted so that she could kneel beside Tamlen, passing them over the wound with a careful eye. Healing was a difficult art to learn and, though she was a novice compared to the Keeper, who knew healing so well that she could cause major wounds to close up in seconds, Merrill had to concentrate, as an improper healing could hinder Ronin's movements in the future.

Tamlen smiled as his beloved healed his clansman, reducing the wound from a bloody puncture to a circular scar in a matter of seconds. "Emm'asha does good work. Right, Ronin?"

With a quick flex and roll of his shoulders, Ronin sprang to his feet and began shifting his arm to see if he could put it through a full range of motion. "Not bad, Merrill. I don't feel anything more than a dull ache."

"Thank you, Ronin. I do my best. Try not to over exert yourself and see the Keeper when we get back." Merrill blushed as Tamlen bestowed a kiss on her cheek before standing, brushing leaves and dirt off her robes. "I cannot have my lethallin's second be a subpar hunter because of a stray arrow."

A tremble in her legs was the only warning before she sank back to her knees, her head swimming. Tamlen catching her by the elbows was the only reason she didn't slam her knees hard on the ground.

"Merrill?" asked Tamlen, concern in his voice and his eyes. "You used too much, didn't you?"

_Second?_ thought Ronin as he reached for his armor, weapons and cloak while Merrill was supported by Tamlen. Several little things were becoming noticeable problems, if taken all together as one major problem. _I'm not getting any memories of becoming his second, or any other major memories from _Ronin's_ past... lack of important memories, hesitations, mixed reactions to familiar stimuli… Why is this happening to me?_

"Thanks, Ronin," said Tamlen, catching a glass vial with a blue glow around it. Merrill grabbed, uncorked, and drank it all in a smooth movement, "I'm glad we took these off those mage hunters the shem Chantry sent into the forest."

"I have my own," Merrill grumbled beneath her breath, rolling her eyes but smiling nonetheless. _I can take of myself… though it's nice to know they care._

Ronin twitched, barely able to withhold any movements noticeable by the other elves. He looked down slowly at his outstretched arm, hand tilted and open as if he had just tossed the vial to Tamlen.

He had.

_I didn't even know I had a lyrium potion_, thought Ronin, his pulse thundering in his ears. Adrenaline coursed through him, making him want to run as fast as he could in any direction. His flight-or-fight instinct was kicking in, though running away or fighting had little to do with the problem at hand.

His other problem, the darkspawn taint, chose to make itself known at this moment, making him hack and cough. A look at his forearm, usually hidden beneath his armor, showed a slightly blackened vein next to normal hues of blue and red. _I'm running on borrowed time_, Ronin thought, looking over his veins with a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Nice toss, lethallin," said Tamlen. "Thought you led with your left hand."

"I've been practicing," Ronin replied hastily, eyes going wide as he turned away again.

"Ah, yes. Your training to be better with both of those blades of yours."

_Oh, this is getting bad. Their noticing things that are different!_

"I am ready to go, Tamlen, Ronin." While Ronin had been thinking about his problems, Merrill had finished the vial of lyrium and rose to her feet, looking more alert than either of them.

Ronin nodded absentmindedly and threw his armor, weapons and cloak back on; readying himself for the confrontations he knew was coming. With a final tug at the straps holding his quiver, Ronin was ready for continuing.

"You alright, lethallin?" asked Tamlen, placing his hand on Ronin's shoulder, just above the puncture in the leather. "You seem troubled."

Ronin pulled his hood back over his head, putting his face back into the comforting shadows he knew well from this world and the previous.

"It's nothing."

* * *

><p>The walk into the cave was easy, owing to the fact that most of the darkspawn that should have been in their path were dead of fresh slash and stab wounds, made from a longsword and dagger respectively.<p>

"Slain darkspawn," said Ronin in a low rumble, reaching down to shift a corpse so that he could see beneath it. "It must've been this 'Duncan' the Keeper wants us to help."

"Agreed." Tamlen had his shield out and strapped to his arm with his blade unsheathed in his hand. He was taking no chances, especially since his friend had taken an arrow to the back. There were more darkspawn about. He knew they were there; could hear the faintest shuffling in the distance that was too loud for critters and too soft for the shem who had preceded them.

Ronin leaned against a rock, looking down the corridor, searching for hidden enemies, until the stone shifted, allowing several smaller stones and a large amount of dust to fall from the ceiling.

Ronin dodged deftly aside, missing the stones but not escaping the dust that filled the air.

He pulled at his hood, putting more of his face in shadow as he coughed into the back of his dagger-filled hand, a hoarse sounding rattle that echoed in the gloom. Noticing the look of concern sent his way from Tamlen and Merrill, he quickly began walking deeper into the ruins, talking over his shoulder as he went. "I'll go ahead of you, take out any stragglers and warn you of any larger groups."

"Wait! You're not-" Merrill hissed, trailing off as he disappeared. "Well."

"It's just the dust, Merrill," said Ronin from further down the corridor. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

Their concerns lessened, they began to walk slowly down the hall, following the quicker moving rogue.

_I wish that was the truth_, thought Ronin as he continued down his path

* * *

><p>With his blades at the ready, he slid soundlessly down the corridor, ignoring the whisper from Merrill and keeping an eye on the shadows on the off chance there were any genlock rogues hiding in their own shadows.<p>

Luckily, he saw the genlocks before they had a chance to see him, as they were already preoccupied by sounds now emanating from the direction of the mirror room.

One by one, Ronin slit their throats and dragged them into the shadows before any of their corrupted brethren could see his movements. _This is like Splinter Cell… though there's no retry option, should I screw up…great…_

Once the room was clear, he allowed himself to become visible, appearing in the middle of a patch of light. He waved the others forward as he started going through the pockets of the closest corpse, using his dagger to cut the compartments open rather than try and touch the armor. One carried a few sovereigns for reason unknown, but Ronin pocketed them without complaint, as money was money.

With a quick flip and a teeth-baring grin, Ronin pulled his hood down and disappeared, returning to his job as forward scout and assassin.

At the T-junction before the door to the mirror, where the bones of the skeletons they had killed still lay, stood a pair of genlocks, facing the closed door with blades lowered but still ready.

_This won't do…_ thought Ronin as he crept up behind one, sheathing his offhand blade and snagging a few small pebbles from the ground as he did so. With a quick toss, the pebbles cracked off the stone and skipped down the hallway behind the pair.

Both genlocks turned and looked to where the pebble had hit, grunting in surprise. One immediately headed off down the hall to investigate, which left Ronin alone with the other.

Grabbing the face of genlock with his now free hand, he pulled it back as he sank his knife into the back of the genlock's head, inserting the keenly honed ironbark blade up into his brain between the C1 Atlas vertebra and occipital bone, penetrating into the medulla oblongata. With that single strike, he destroyed the part of the brain responsible for the involuntary functions of breathing and heartbeat. The genlock was dead before he hit the floor.

The light clatter of the dead genlock's armor on the ground had the other turning back, looking for the new source of noise. Halfway into the turn, the genlock's head ran into Ronin's dagger, the blade punching through the eye socket and into the brain. It twitched for a few seconds and made as if to grasp at the elf's arm before it went limp, sliding off Ronin's blade with a sucking sound as it fell.

Ronin smiled as he put his fingers to his mouth and blew a sharp whistle, the all clear signal. Seconds later, Tamlen and Merrill walked into the junction, staff, blade and shield at the ready, just in case.

"This is the last room and it's where we found the mirror. If Duncan isn't in here, he must have left before we arrived," remarked the rogue as he sheathed his daggers and walked towards the door. "Be prepared, there may be more darkspawn."

"Have we not killed more than thirty of these things already?" asked Merrill, conjuring a flame in one hand while she held her staff in the other, prepared to cast a simultaneous attack.

"Ronin's killed a dozen, as have I," remarked Tamlen, standing right next to the door. He'd be the first one in, seeing how he had the heaviest armor and a shield. "You have the smallest number of kills, Emm'asha."

Ronin chuckled at the sight of Merrill pouting as he knelt in front of the door to peer beneath it. _No motion… I see a few corpses, but I don't see Duncan's feet._

He stood and drew his daggers, taking up position behind Tamlen, ready to enter the room. "I don't see anyone in there, but they may be hidden."

"Alright then," said Tamlen as he kicked open the door and charged in, shield up to catch anything that came his way. He stopped short at the sight of the human they had been sent to find. "Duncan?"

Duncan turned as Merrill and Ronin entered the room, sheathing his sword and dagger. "So… you were the one fighting darkspawn. I thought I heard combat."

Ronin smiled as he slid his blades back into sheathes at his back, glad to see the end of his sickness in sight. That, and finally meeting Duncan of the Grey Wardens.

Duncan wore a mix of plate and leather, unique to him as far as Ronin's knowledge went, with an off-white robe worn underneath. The plate armor protected his torso and hands, made of silverite by the looks of things, while heavy leather protected his arms from shoulders to gauntlets. _The off-white robe makes him look similar to the scholars and Assassins from AC._

His dagger and sword were in plain, brown leather scabbards at his hips, longsword at his right and dagger at his left. Large belts around his waist supported the scabbards as well as a few pouches of various size, probably carrying poultices and the like.

_Finally… Duncan's here, like the in the game! Thank the Creators! I can be cured by joining the Wardens._

"You two are the elves I found at the mouth of these caves two days ago, correct?" asked Duncan, looking at Ronin and Tamlen in turn. "I am surprised you have recovered."

"You're Duncan, yes?" asked Ronin, knowing but asking for the sake of it. _Hello, Peter Renaday_ "The Grey Warden who found us?"

Duncan bowed slightly in acknowledgement. "It's good to finally meet you. The last time we spoke, you were barely conscious."

"Andaran atish'an, Duncan of the Grey Wardens," said Merrill, nodding at Duncan in respect as she leaned on her staff. "I am Merrill, the Keeper's First."

"I am Ronin, one of the hunters."

Tamlen sheathed his blade and slung his shield on his back before addressing Duncan. "And I am Tamlen, also one of the hunters. Did you come here alone, human? Battling all those creatures?"

"Yes, though I must admit, you took a great deal of pressure off me," he remarked, looking at the corpses that decorated the room. "Your Keeper did not send you after me, did she? I told her I would be in no danger."

"The Keeper wished for us to support you and return you safely to the camp. She wishes to speak with you once your task is done," explained Ronin.

"Very well," Duncan sighed, shaking his head. "So you and Tamlen entered the cave and found this mirror, yes?"

"Yes," confirmed Tamlen. "I was knocked out in the battle with the bereskarn, so I can't say what happened afterwards."

"I carried Tamlen out of the cave, in case there were any more enemies about," Ronin continued. "I returned and examined the mirror. When I touched it, a bright light flared up and threw me into the wall, where I blacked out."

Duncan's gaze grew grave at the news. "I see. That is… unfortunate. The Grey Wardens have seen mirrors like this one before. It is Tevinter in origin, used for communication.

"Over time, some of them simply…" Duncan hesitated, searching for the right words. "…break. They become filled with the same taint as the darkspawn. Your touch must have released it. It is what made you sick."

"Why have the darkspawn come here?" asked Tamlen, looking over Duncan's shoulder at the mirror.

"They are drawn to the taint, like moths to a flame," replied Duncan. "More will come, given time."

"Then it must be destroyed," said Ronin.

"Agreed. As long as it exists, it remains a threat to all who come here."

"I do not fear this sickness. The Keeper has cured Ronin of it, she can do it again," said Merrill, skeptical of the corruption.

"She may have weakened it, but she did not cure it," said Duncan, his voice grave. He seemed very sad to say it. "His recovery is only temporary. I can sense the sickness in you… and it is spreading. Look inside yourself, and you will see."

_Yeah, I know… I can feel it_, thought Ronin, nodding at Duncan's words. "There is somethi-"

He broke off coughing, sinking to his knees as he tried to breathe and cough at the same time.

"Ronin!" whispered Tamlen, coming to crouch by the coughing hunter. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fi-" Ronin broke off, pressing his fist to his mouth as he began to cough again, his entire torso shaking with each bark from his throat.

Tamlen pulled back his hood and forced Ronin to look at him.

His eyes were sunken in his skull, he had bags beneath his eyes as if he'd put off sleeping for a week and a spider web of dark veins was above where his armor ended at the neck.

Tamlen stepped back as Merrill gasped, afraid of the condition of their friend. Ronin rolled his eyes and threw his cowl back up, hiding his face. "The disease the Keeper tried to cure is back."

"I _thought_ the Keeper _cured it_, not delayed it," said Merrill, her hands glowing blue as she walked over. "And you didn't look like that thirty minutes ago."

"As I said, he is not cured," repeated Duncan, stepping forward as if to help. "And this corruption acts faster than most diseases you know."

"Let me try some healing spells the Keeper showed me while you were still out of it. It may delay it long enough to get you back to Marethari." With that, Merrill grabbed his neck and wrist with her hands and began to pump wave after wave of restorative energy through him, aimed at the dark and twisted thing within him.

What neither Tamlen nor Merrill expected to happen was Ronin's pain filled scream to echo through the cave as black liquid began to float out of the seams in his armor at his shoulders and his eye sockets.

Merrill's concentration broke and the magic she was manipulating faltered, causing a wave of pure magic that fizzled out rather than enter its target. The black liquid that had been draining out of Ronin splattered against the walls, the mirror, and the shield Merrill had thrown up as a reflex.

She stepped back as Ronin collapsed, clutching at his chest and eyes as pained gasps filling the air. He ripped at the straps of the bracer on his arm and tore it off, revealing normal veins in blue and red shades with no black in sight. He sat down heavily, rubbing his forearm with his other hand, as if soothing an ache.

"That… hurt," he growled out between clenched teeth, surprising both Tamlen and Merrill. Both knew of his high pain tolerance, but for him to say something about it means it must have been a monumental amount of pain. "But it seems to have worked. I don't feel as sick as I was."

Tamlen strode forward and pulled his clans mate to his feet, holding him up when he stumbled from the pain. "Can you continue?"

"I'm alright… just a little achy." Ronin pushed Tamlen away as he straightened up and snagged his bracer off the floor. He quickly wrapped it back around his arm and flexed his arm to get it back in the correct position. "I can still fight."

"You're sure?" asked Merrill, drinking a pair of lyrium filled vials to offset the exhaustion that was sure to be coming after the expenditure for healing.

"Impressive," said Duncan, surprise clear in his voice. "You overpowered the spell, and literally tore the corruption out of him… well, not all of it. It will be back."

"Then what should I do?" asked Ronin, inwardly smiling.

"First, we deal with the mirror. It is a pestilence and a threat," said Duncan, drawing his longsword.

He stopped when he felt Ronin's hand on his arm. He looked back to see brown eyes staring at him from the shadows of the camouflage cowl.

"Please, allow me," pleaded Ronin. "I unleashed this. I should be the one to end it."

Duncan nodded and stepped back, returning his sword to its scabbard. "Very well."

Ronin drew his main dagger and walked up the steps. Whisperings started in his ears, indistinct voices that got louder as he closed in on the mirror. He could barely make out parts of words when he stood in front of it.

"-I wi- -ive yu- -wer! Do n- bre- -e mir-or!"

With a steady hand, Ronin struck at the mirror, aiming for the center.

Shock radiated from him when his hand was intercepted before he could complete the slash, a hand catching his wrist and stopping all motion.

The hand that had grasped his was matte black, sported talons rather than fingernails and covered with swirls and strokes that glowed gold, emerging from _within_ the mirror.

"What the?" yelled Ronin, staring at the limb before he was pulled off balance, the hand withdrawing into the mirror, trying to take him with it. "Help!"

Duncan, who had been closest, leapt of the stairs in a manner befitting a younger man and leant his strength to Ronin's, who was using his other hand on the edge of the mirror to try and push himself away. The muscles in his neck stood out against his neck as he forced his head away, keeping his face away from the mirror that had pulled him in up to his shoulder.

Tamlen charged up the steps after him, latching onto Ronin's other shoulder and threw his weight back towards the stairs, making Ronin slide a few inches out of the mirror. "Pull!"

With the sound of glass splintering, the hold was released, which led to the three melee fighters falling down the stairs as the weight they had been fighting against disappeared.

They looked back up to the mirror to find it shattered, leaving only the frame around where the silvered glass had been intact.

"What the hell was that?" asked Ronin, both to himself and to the others. _What the fuck was that? When Duncan destroyed the mirror in the game, nothing like this ever happened!_

"I am not sure," said Duncan, rolling to his feet after pushing Tamlen off his leg. "Perhaps something from the Fade was in the mirror. Luckily, Merrill there was quick enough to destroy the mirror."

The three men turned to look at Merrill, intent on expressing their gratitude, Ronin most of all, when they saw a look of horror on her face as she looked at Ronin.

Specifically, Ronin's arm…

The armored gauntlet that had covered his arm to the elbow, the guard that protected his upper arm, and the shoulder had disappeared, leaving his arm bare almost to his neck. The skin that was exposed was now dark, ranging from a dark grey to pure black, with a trail of blue-white swirls that traveled from fingertips to shoulder and glowed of their own accord. Talons had sprouted from his fingertips, razor sharp points taking the pace of his fingernails and tips.

"…I have never seen anything like this," whispered Duncan, touching the blackened limb with a finger. The flesh refused to yield, feeling more like stone rather than muscle wrapped in skin. Yet, to his surprise, the tendons shifted the flesh freely when Ronin wiggled his fingers.

"Interesting…" said Merrill as she crouched next to Ronin, poking his arm with a finger. "Do you feel that? Any pain?"

_Odd_, thought Ronin as he twisted his hand in front of his face, marveling at the change. _It feels no different than my normal hand._ At Merrill's questioning glance, he answered, "No, no pain, but I do feel you poking me."

Tamlen picked up a shard of the fallen stonework and tossed it to him. "Think those talons of yours are sharp?" he asked, a wary look on his face.

Catching the rock in his left, he brought it to the taloned right hand. With barely any pressure, the claws sank into the stone without resistance, like putting a hand through water. Withdrawing his new claws, he looked at the flawless grooves he'd carved through the granite.

"Uh… I guess that answers that question," said Tamlen, concern clear on his face. He circled around to stand at Ronin's unaffected side, watching the arm with a wary eye. "Do you feel anything from it, Warden?"

"Please, call me Duncan," said the veteran Warden, holding Ronin's arm up to eye level. After a moment of silence, in which Duncan closed his eyes and Ronin felt a mental nudge in his center, Duncan released his arm, shaking his head. "I sense nothing from his arm, no heartbeat, no warmth… no remnants of the taint, either."

"Perhaps we should let the Keeper take a look at it, yes?" asked Merrill, touching Ronin's arm with a handful of healing magic. Instead of entering the arm, like normal healing magic would, the magic simply slid up his arm to where the black faded to his normal skin tone and disappeared, absorbed by the rest of him.

With an intrigued look on everyone's faces, including his, Ronin stood and draped what was left of his cloak over his bare arm. "Let's get back to camp."

"Yes, let us leave this place. I must speak with the Keeper immediately regarding your cure," said Duncan as he stood as well, brushing dust and dirt off his robes. "I sense no other darkspawn nearby, so it's safe. Lead on."


	4. Meeting the Mask

The journey back was relatively quiet. Only Ronin and Duncan conversed, talking about his cure for what ailed him… or at least Ronin asked about it and Duncan provided vague answers, saying he needed to discuss things with the Keeper first, which was making the elf frustrated at the lack of answers.

When they arrived back in camp, they met the Keeper in front of her aravel.

"I'm relieved you have returned, da'len," Marethari said, smiling at the three elves and nodding to Duncan. "It is good to see you safe. I admit I did not expect you to return so soon."

"I was not expecting to return so soon either, Keeper. Your hunters and your First were very helpful in removing the darkspawn."

"There were darkspawn in the cave?" asked Marethari, her features grim.

"There is much to discuss, Keeper Marethari," said Duncan, his tone almost sorrowful. "I have learned a great deal since I was last here. Particularly, regarding your hunter, Ronin."

"Let us speak privately within my aravel then, Duncan," said the Keeper, gesturing to her land ship with a sweep of her arm. She then looked at Merrill, her features growing sharp. "Merrill, warn the hunters. If there are darkspawn about, I want the clan prepared."

"There should be no need, Keeper," interjected Duncan, stilling Merrill. "I sensed no darkspawn left at the cave and none around it."

"Nevertheless, they should know. Merrill?"

"Ma nuvenin, Keeper. Tamlen?" said Merrill. She turned on her heel and left in the direction in one of the campfires, where most, if not all, of the hunters were. Tamlen followed, tossing a look over his shoulder at Ronin's arm.

Ronin noted the look, as did the Keeper. She raised an eyebrow at the limb, which had been wrapped in the remains of his cloak and tied tight to his arm. She also noted the lack of armor outlines beneath the shroud and the fact that even his hand was covered. A look at Duncan had him nodding slightly, silently agreeing to speak about it later.

"Ronin, da'len," said the Keeper, speaking low and comforting as if to ease any fears Ronin had, much like she had done when he was young. "Allow me some time to speak with Duncan. Seek us out at my aravel, later, and we can discuss your cure. Follow me, Duncan. I am eager to hear what you have to say."

She left Ronin standing alone in front of the aravel, taking Duncan into her aravel and shutting the flap.

Ronin turned away, heading for the fire where Paivel had sat before he left the camp. Taking a seat at the empty log, Ronin let his head drop into his hands, rubbing his temples as a headache started forming.

_How do I get memories about what the Keeper did when Ronin was a child but not about being a 'Second' to Tamlen and then hesitating in a high risk situation? What is going on?_

"You return with the Grey Warden, but your mind remains troubled, da'len."

Ronin shot up as the elder sat at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Ronin. You are usually not so jumpy."

"I have a lot of things on my mind, hahren," said Ronin, dropping his head again. _I could say that again…_

"Would you like to talk about it?" asked Paivel, a look of light concern on his face.

_Hell no!_ Ronin shook his head before looking the elder elf dead in the eyes. "Ma serannas, hahren Paivel, but I believe this is something I must figure out on my own."

"…very well, Ronin," said Paivel, removing his hand. He shuffled forward, leaning on his knees. "I ask only one thing, if I may."

"Yes?"

"This… Grey Warden… you have met him now, yes?" queried Paivel, staring at him with a somewhat stern expression mixed with curiosity. "Is he a good man?"

"He saved my life, Tamlen's as well, and he is a friend of the Clan," said Ronin with confidence in every word, though he was most certainly biased because of his prior knowledge of how badass the Grey Warden was… _is_. "He's treated us and the clan like equals rather than dirt, like the rest of Ferelden."

"Interesting." Paivel was surprised, to say the least. Ronin's contempt for humans was barely noticeable, yet still there, much like all Dalish. To champion a human, especially now that he knew how his father died, was a shocking thing. _This will give me much to think on…_

"What is it he talks to the Keeper about, I wonder," thought Paivel aloud, looking over at the Keeper's aravel. Very few humans had been welcome in their camp before, and fewer still were welcome in the personal dwellings of the Keeper. "Ah, none of my affair."

Paivel stood, stretching his back with the accompanying sound of cracking vertebrae. "I leave you to your thoughts, da'len. May the gods guide your path."

"And yours as well, hahren," said Ronin, inclining his head slightly in farewell. As the elder walked off, Ronin sighed and stood himself, cracking his neck.

He walked to the aravel he and Ashalle shared and removed the folded wolf skin from the back of his belt, where it had been protected from any damage beneath his cloak.

The tanning process, which –luckily for him- was one of the memories he'd received from his bodies' predecessor. The entire process would take at least a day or two before it would be finished, possibly a week if Merrill or one of the other mages were busy, but it would give him something to do for the next couple of hours, or until he saw the Keeper and Warden reappear from within the aravel.

Duncan settled onto the lush furs that sat in one section of the aravel, his swords unbuckled from his belt but within arm's reach should anything arise. He sighed as Marethari settled in her own pile of furs opposite of him, handing him a cup of some sort of tea. It smelled sweet enough, so he took a sip and found himself smiling at the taste. He'd tasted something similar in Val Royeaux, back when he had stolen to survive.

"I cannot cure him, can I?" asked Marethari, jolting Duncan out of his memories. He looked up, startled, to see the beginnings of tears in her eyes. "He won't survive."

Duncan put aside the tea and leaned forward to support his elbows on his knees. "There is no cure for the darkspawn plague available in the realms of magic."

"I knew it," she whispered, tears leaving her eyes and leaving tracts of moisture down her face.

Duncan sighed and leant back, trying to find a way of wording his next statement without revealing the secrets of the Wardens. He was in possession of a vial of treated darkspawn blood, most Wardens were, on the off chance he ever met an infected individual who was worthy of joining. He'd never had the chance to use it before, but now was as good as a time as any.

"That is not to say…" he began, making the Keeper look up sharply, teary eyes locking onto him immediately. "That the Wardens do not have a cure."

"You said-"

"I said your magic could not cure him, but the Joining can."

"The Joining? I've never heard of such a thing," said Marethari, intrigued by the prospect of a cure.

"It is a Grey Warden ritual," said Duncan, not explaining anything.

"But what does it entail? What happens-" she trailed off when Duncan held up his hand.

"Everyone has secrets, Keeper. The Grey Wardens are not allowed to give away any to those not of our order." Duncan sighed and ran a hand through his hair before rubbing his temples. _This is the hard part_, he thought. "I can cure your clansman, but I cannot tell you how."

"For him to be cured, he will have to become a Grey Warden?" asked Marethari, trying to get more information out of him. Duncan nodded, which had her slumping in relief.

"The life of a Warden is a hard one," said Duncan, holding up a hand to forestall any questions. "We have only been let back into the country for ten years, and we are treated with much suspicion. We are not the most welcome in these parts."

"The Dalish are in the same position, Duncan. He would not be unused to the feeling," said Marethari, chuckling lightly. "Will he be allowed to stay with us?"

"He may visit, but Wardens actively patrol the kingdom and report to Denerim when they are finished…" said Duncan, a twinge of sorrow making itself known. "A visit may last a week or a month at a time, but he will always have to leave sooner or later."

"At least he will survive," said Marethari, taking a sip of her own tea. She sat there for a moment, staring into the depths of her cup and thinking about what to do.

"Does he have any family?" asked Duncan, knowing it would be hard to leave loved ones behind.

"His parents died long ago, his father before he was born and his mother soon after," explained Marethari. "He was raised by Ashalle Elensar, who had been a friend of his mother."

"Forgive me for being blunt, Keeper," said Duncan, settling into the furs. "Unless you want to prepare a service for Ronin in the near future, he _needs_ to join us."

She was silent, contemplating the choices before her. On the one hand, if Ronin joined the Grey Wardens, he was joining a life of constant alertness for darkspawn, of leaving his family and friends to become a guardian for the entire country. Especially to protect a race that routinely treated the elves as dirt, barely worthy enough to lick the dust from their boots.

On the other hand, not joining was a death sentence. Ashalle had been devastated at the deaths of Ellesar and Nessa Mahariel. Marethari doubted her ability to stay emotionally stable if she were to outlive her friend's child.

"Very well, Duncan," she said, having made her decision. "It will be up to him to choose whether he joins or not."

"Agreed. We prefer willing recruits, so if he chooses not to join, we will respect that."

"Which leads me to the next topic of discussion: Why was his arm covered in his cloak?"

Duncan shifted, trying to become more comfortable as he foresaw a long conversation ahead of him. "When he destroyed the mirror, something I've never seen before happened…"

Luckily for Ronin, one of the other Dalish mages was not busy and willing to help him with his wolf pelt, or else he would have only completed one step rather than several. The process, even with the help of a mage, had taken up most of the day, leaving only the process of neutralizing, oiling and breaking for the next day.

He groaned as he draped the skin over a rack, leaving it in a cool place in the aravel till the next day. He looked up at the steadily darkening sky, stretching out his arms before reaching back down to help his companion.

The young mage next to him smiled as she accepted Ronin's hand, helping her to her feet. She wore a green robe over top a light grey tunic, much like Merrill's clothing, though she went without the furry shoulder pads that marked Merrill as the Keeper's First. Her own staff was leaning against one of the aravel wheels, a white oak staff infused with lyrium, giving it a small sparkle and glow in the growing darkness.

"Ma serannas, Altáriël, for your help," said Ronin, smiling at the young girl. His memories showed him how she had come into the clan four years ago, leaving her clan to join the Sabrae in order to learn more advanced magic from Marethari. "I owe you a favor, lethallan."

"Ma nuvenin, Ronin. I will collect later," she said before walking away, headed for her own aravel near the Keeper's.

Ronin flipped his skinning knife in hand as he turned away, intending to walk into the aravel for some rest. He stopped short, however, when he saw Ashalle leaning against the doorframe with a smile on her face.

"You know she likes you, right?" she asked, pushing off the wall to stand beside Ronin, who had turned back to watch the elven mage. "She's been harboring that crush of hers for a long time."

"She's young, only sixteen summers. She'll grow out of it."

"You keep thinking that, lethallin," she said in a singsong voice as she walked into the aravel. Ronin shook his head and followed, hanging his weapons on their hook by the door. He immediately stepped back outside when she started walking back out, an ironbark rocking chair held in her hands.

"Going to be watching the stars tonight, Ashalle?" he asked, sliding into the aravel as she placed the chair on the ground with a thump. "The stars won't be out for a half hour at least."

"I am enjoying the silence, Ronin. Now, shush!"

Ronin chuckled under his breath as he removed his armor, stacking the pieces of what was left of his shoulder armor inside the torso armor. _I'll talk to Master Ilen tomorrow about some new armor pieces_, he thought as he reached into his trunk and pulled out a long sleeved shirt and a thin leather glove, his practice clothes for when he wasn't hunting. He also snagged a roll of wide bandages which he wrapped around the glowing lines and whirls on his arm, which would shine right through his shirt without a second, thicker shroud.

With a quick look at the flap of the aravel, he pulled off the cloak that covered his arm and stared at it, equally amazed and concerned at the sight of it. _I don't know what this is, but I'm going to find out._

He threw on the shirt as he walked to the door, though stopped short as the sound of metal falling on wood was heard behind him.

The key Ashalle gave him lay on the wooden floor, a small key of iron that had a few holes bored through it but was otherwise unremarkable in its construction.

Ronin looked to the far corner, where he knew the black chest to be. It was a long, relatively flat chest, with a complex lock in the center. He knew it was complex because, when he was younger, he'd tried to pick the lock with his budding skills. Ashalle had caught him before he could do anything, so he'd given up.

He pulled the box out, struggling to get the awkward package out of the corner without knocking anything over. It was a foot and a half wide, six feet in length and six inches thick, reminding him of the box which had held his aunt's old archery set in his old life.

He snagged the key as he walked out of the aravel, awkwardly carrying the box –that was taller than him- under his arm. _Time to see what's in here_, he thought as he sat down on the steps of the aravel, placing the box on the ground before his feet.

"You're opening the chest?" asked Ashalle, looking over from her chair.

"Yes…" said Ronin, fitting the key into the lock. With an exhale, he twisted the key.

With a groan of unused hinges, the chest was opened. The inside was lined in a mix of furs, separating object from each other.

Inside it was a sheathed dar'misaan, among other things. The sheath was a dark blue, almost black, as was the handle. Drawing the blade a little, Ronin saw it was pale, almost white in color, though it was tinged with a very light yellow shade. He raised an eyebrow at it, especially when Ashalle told him exactly what it was. "You're father's blade. Made of dragonbone. He found it in an old tomb, when our clan was wandering north of Ferelden."

_Dragonbone: Thedas' equivalent of mistarille or adamantium_, thought Ronin, the info coming from his Dalish memories. Anything made from dragons were, when treated in the right way, unbreakable, or so the stories go. Dragonbone, for instance, when made into a tool or anything else, it could be bent greater than ninety degrees to its original position before springing right back. The problem was that once it cooled, about five times longer than silverite, it stayed like that for all of time…supposedly.

The likelihood of finding weapons like these was slim, much like taking on a dragon and surviving. Due to the scarcity of dragons nowadays and the complexity of the preparations for making such gear, it was a prized possession to all who owned it.

Ronin looked away from Ashalle and back down at the box, which held several thin books, ranging from half an inch to a full inch in thickness, an unstrung longbow that sported a stylized crimson paint job, a couple metal rings with holes bored through them at differing locations, a small, intricately carved, wooden box, and a dar'misu of the same style and material of the dar'misaan.

A quick flip through the first couple of pages showed crammed handwriting filling the yellowing pages, listing dates, places, and a slew of other things. _I'll check this out later_, thought Ronin as he placed the books back in the box and returned to examining the paired dar'misu and dar'misaan. _A pair samurai of blades… katana and wakizashi pair. Excellent._

"Your father was a great hunter before he became a Keeper. He was always poking around ancient ruins wherever we went and he was always writing in those journals of his, especially after he found those blades."

"There will be time for more stories later, lethallan," said Marethari, appearing out of the shadows behind them. Ronin didn't move, while Ashalle nearly jumped a foot in the air. "You heard me coming, didn't you, da'len?"

"You let me, Keeper, slapping your feet like that," returned Ronin, his ears twitching slightly with each footfall. He turned around to look at the keeper, though paused when he saw the look on her face.

"…I am walking normally, da'len," said Marethari, looking both confused and thoughtful. She pushed aside those thoughts for now, as she had a purpose for being here. "But never mind that; Duncan and I wish to speak with you."

Ronin placed the paired weapons back in the box, locked it, and stood, leaning the box against one of the wheels of the aravel. At his nod, the Keeper turned away and walked into the shadows around the camp. Ronin followed, making sure his arm was hidden beneath the bandages, safe from the prying eyes of patrolling sentry.

"Keeper, Ronin," said the sentinel, stepping out of the shadows. The bow in his hand and the black lines forming a sort of book shape covering the forehead, like a book hidden with secrets, the complex markings of Dirthamen revealed him to be Theron.  
>"All is well, yes?" asked Ronin, fingering the handle of the hunting knife at his belt. Theron leant on the Fen'harel statue, his bow held in a loose grip with a few arrows along the handle while one was already nocked.<p>

"All is quiet, lethallin."

"How is Master Ilen's bow?"

"A little more powerful than what I am used to, but I have adjusted accordingly," he said, smoothly bringing the bow to full draw in demonstration. "I was hitting too high, adjusting too little for the power upgrade."

"Come along, Ronin." Marethari's voice came from the bushes ahead, jolting Ronin back into motion.

"Yes, Keeper!" said Ronin, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance as Theron smiled before loping off towards where the Keeper had been. "Dareth shiral, lethallin"

"Dareth shiral."

Marethari's white hair shone beneath the moonlight, acting as a beacon for Ronin. They walked for ten minutes in silence before Ronin deemed it far enough from any of the watchmen for them to speak freely.

"Is this about my cure, Keeper?" he asked as he pushed a low hanging branch out of his and her path, revealing the armored form of Duncan sitting on a fallen tree. Clearly, Marethari was expecting him as she barely reacted at his appearance.

"Yes, it is, Ronin of the Dalish." Duncan stood, bowing slightly to the Keeper. "Your Keeper and I have spoken and we've come to an arrangement that concerns you. My order is small, and always on the lookout for new recruits. You are in need of a cure. I am leaving tomorrow, headed for Denerim to make my report to the rest of the Wardens.

"If you are to be cured, you must join us. You need not follow me at dawn tomorrow, you can finish the week among your kin, but when the week is over, you will have to travel to Denerim to meet with the rest of us," said Duncan, pacing in front of the two elves. "I believe you would make an excellent Grey Warden."

"Am I to become a Grey Warden, Keeper?"

"Yes, da'len," said Marethari, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Your life depends on it."

"The darkspawn taint courses through your veins," said Duncan, breaking in. "That you survived this long is a testament to both your will and the skill of your Keeper's magic. But, eventually, the taint will sicken and kill you, or worse… the Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us."

"I will not join out of pity," asked Ronin, feeling indignant despite knowing this was his only hope. _The Dalish in me is coming out more…_

"Nor do I ask that you do," said Duncan in a placating tone. "This is not simply charity on my part. I would not offer you this if I did not think you had the makings of a Grey Warden.

"Let me be clear," he said as his voice grew grim. "Joining us is not a light burden. We ask you to leave your clan and pledge yourself to defend the land against the darkspawn. You may see them again in the years to come, but you no longer have ties to just them. Grey Wardens owe no one country an allegiance, but _all of them_, whether they are human, elvish or dwarvish."

"Long ago, the Dalish agreed to aid the Grey Wardens in their fight against the darkspawn," said Marethari in a low tone. "I ask that you join them, not because we owe them, but because it pains me more to watch you die than for you to leave us."

The beginnings of tears were in her eyes as she looked him in the eyes. "This is your duty… and your salvation."

Ronin placed a hand on her arm in what he hoped was a comforting way before turning to Duncan. He slapped his covered arm to his chest, fist over heart and bowed his head. "Then I accept this honor, Duncan, if you'll have me."

Duncan crossed his arms and bowed as well, a smile growing on his face. "Then I welcome you into the order. It is rare to have a Dalish amongst us, but they have always served with distinction. The last Dalish in the Wardens was Garahel, the elf who slew the archdemon and ended the last blight.

"Now, if you excuse us, Keeper," said Duncan, looking Marethari in the eye. "Unless you wish to join the Wardens as well, I need you to leave."

"Very well, Duncan. I will see you later, da'len." With that said, Marethari strode off into the bushes, headed back to camp.

"If she stops, please tell me," said Duncan, making Ronin raise an eyebrow. _Right… the Joining is a secret_, thought Ronin as he strained his senses, easily finding the steady swish of Marethari's robe against the ground as she walked. "The process of becoming a Grey Warden is a secret, and it will remain a secret long after we are gone."

When the footfalls of the Keeper died away, Ronin told Duncan, who pulled a vial from within his armor. It was a heavy, black metal flask with many small etchings glowing with a lyrium blue.

"The Grey Wardens were founded near the end of the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the First Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood… and mastered their taint. As the First did before us, as I did before you. This is the source of our power… and our victory. Those who survive become immune to the taint, and use it to sense the darkspawn and slay the archdemon.

He held the vial out to Ronin, who took it uneasily, feeling the darkspawn taint through the layer of protective runes. "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the First:

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

Ronin unstoppered the vial and flinched away from the open mouth. The feeling of corruption and foulness emanating from the flask tripled as the warded seal was broken.

"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint. From this moment on, you… are a Grey Warden."

Ronin smiled, bringing the tainted blood to his lips. "Salute."

It almost tasted like blood. It had a metallic tang to it, salty, just like the blood one would taste if they bit their lip or sucked on a small cut, but a disgusting aftertaste that coated his tongue and throat and refused to move when he swallowed.

Then the pain started, not in his stomach or throat like he would have expected, but in his head, a deep pounding that reverberated across his brain, each new wave of pain adding itself to the priors. The cumulative effect had his eyes rolling up in his head and his vision fading to black.

He found himself on the ground, knees smarting from hitting the ground. When he opened his eyes, he saw a familiar sight: white… in all directions.

"This crap again?" he asked, his voice echoing slightly. A look down showed he was still wearing the boots, loose pants, and long sleeved shirt he'd worn at the Joining rather than the clothes he'd been wearing when he took a knife to the chest. His ears were pointed as well rather normal rounded as before. "What is this pla-"

Whatever else he wanted to say was lost as the air in his lungs was driven from his lungs, helped by a fist to the stomach. His knees flared up again in painful symphony as they hit the ground once again, though the aria was now a duet, now complemented by an aching loss of breath.

"Ar'din nuvenin na'din, but if you do not tell me what is going on, ar tu na'lin emma mi!" shouted the man standing above him.

_This seems to be a recurring habit_, he thought as he looked up at Ronin, wearing the loose pants he'd been wearing before he went to sleep three days ago. _I have got to stop thinking humans are the only thing in this world._

A savage kick to his stomach had him curling up again, folding himself into the fetal position. A look at the elf's face showed he was incredibly angry, the half black face with fury filled green eyes staring down at him. "Dirth, lethallin!"

He raised a hand in Ronin's direction, warding off further attacks as he struggled to his feet. "I have to know what you want to know, lethallin, before I say anything."

"Where am I?" _Predictable… he's scared, in a room with no walls, floor or ceiling._

"I don't know." That was the truth, even he didn't know. "I was here once before, before I woke up in your clothes under the tree."

"Who are you?"

"…I don't know anymore…" he said, straightening from the crouch he'd been in. "One moment, I'm running to a job, then I find a woman who's about to be raped by three guys. I get stabbed, everything goes black, I wake up in this room, hear some voice that yelled directly in my head, and then I wake up with Tamlen kicking me, under a tree with a cloak as a pillow."

Before the Ronin look alike can open his mouth to ask another question, he cut him off with a raised hand. "My turn to ask a question: who are you?"

The elf stood up straight and glared at him, but answered him nonetheless. "Ronin Mahariel, of the Sabrae clan. I went to sleep one night and I wake up here. I see flashes… a cave… a mirror… foul creatures… an arrow in the shoulder… a shem named Duncan… something called the Joining… then… you appear."

"And hitting me was the best way to go around getting info?"

He shrugged.

The ex-human walked over and slugged him in the stomach, sending the elf to the floor with a groan. As Ronin tried to stand back up, he was hit again with a knee to the jaw.

"Elgar'nan! What was that for?"

"Payback. Now… let's relax and find out why we're here."

_~The path has not been walked. Two have entered, only one shall leave through the door.~_

boomed the voice, sending both of them to their knees. Ronin was looking around wildly, trying to find the source of the voice. "Who is that?"

"I don't know. He, she, whatever… said I'm a warrior, and my work isn't finished," he answered, rubbing his temples to alleviate the pressure the voice just placed on his brain. "Lovely singing voice, don't you think?"

"I have a lovely singing voice!" said Ronin, a little louder than his usual tone of voice as he probably thought the voice went through his ears rather than his brain. "Whatever that was, it sounded like an army, all yelling at once."

"Wait… 'two have entered,' 'leave through the door…' I've read something like this before." _This _is _familiar! Hope's Revival!_

"How is it familiar?" asked the elf, growing interested as the pain across his mind faded to a dull ache rather than an intense thrum like a tuned string instrument.

"The characters in the book went back in time with some ritual using four magical artifacts. They went back to the beginning of the story and woke up in their own bodies of the time. Later on, they get in contact with their prior selves through meditation. They talk a bit and then they… join. Become one. Memories, habits, that sort of thing, all transferred and mixed and matched."

"Mythal… is such a thing possible?"

"Ronin, where I came from, you don't exist outside the realm of a role playing game that is written by my decisions. If you had gone through the events of the last three days, Tamlen would've died, disappearing from the cave never to be seen until the end of the game when he attacks the camp."

"Tamlen dying? A camp? What are you talking about?"

He relayed the tale of Dragon Age: Origins, telling him about the six origin stories, how Duncan's timely arrival saved one of them while the others died, the events of Ostagar and the betrayal of Cailan by Loghain, the quests for treaties made by the mages, dwarves and elves, the siege of Redcliffe and the search for the Ashes of Andraste, the Landsmeet, the slavery ring in the alienage, and the possible endings, either dying, sending a brother in all but blood or a hated enemy to die, or possibly delivering the soul of an Old God to Flemeth, an insanely powerful and quite possibly insane mage.

Ronin was speechless, to say the least. "My life…my friends, family, everything… it's all a game to you?"

"Not anymore… remember, I died. I took a blade to the lungs and drowned in my own blood. Now I'm here, and I think I'm here to change how things are going to end. If you were there instead of me, Tamlen would be dead!"

"So you say."

He reached out and wrapped a hand around Ronin's throat, fingers and thumb pinching on either side of the trachea. A push upwards with the occupied hand had Ronin standing atop his toes to alleviate the pain. "So it is!"

"I don't know why I'm here, but if I'm going to stay, we need to work together," he said as Ronin tugged at his fingers. "Alright?"

Ronin glared at him as he grabbed his pinky, trying to use it to force his hand away. A quick punch to the gut and across his face left the elf in the same position with a bruise forming on his face.

"Vir adahlen, lethallin. Together we are stronger than one."

"…fine," Ronin choked out after a minute. He dropped his hand and stepped back, allowing Ronin to rub his neck with breathing room.

"Another thing: you're left handed?"

"Yes."

"I'm not. Tamlen noticed."

"He's a hunter. We notice things like that."

_~Decide quickly…your time grows short.~_

The voice chose to speak again, making the very air around them vibrate, which transferred the reverberations across their brains. They finally shook the aches from their heads to pick themselves up off their knees to find a wooden door where there had been none before, made of a white wood that was brighter than the rest of the world around them.

"Well, this is turning out like I thought it would."

"What do you mean?" asked Ronin, looking at the door with interest. "What is significant about the door?"

"In this story I read, the two people inhabiting the body walk through the door at the same time and become one."

"Is that a wise course of action?" he queried, watching both the door and his invader.

"It's the only way we're both getting out of here," he sighed, rubbing his forehead. He looked back up to the elf, straightening his shoulders. "However, I will give you the choice: I stole your body, and for that, I apologize a thousand times over. Since this is your body, you can leave through that door by yourself, or we both can go. If we both go, you will have my skills, memories and bodily reflexes, and I will have yours. We'll become one. Is that what you want?"

Ronin was silent for several moments, hand stroking his chin in thought. While the elf was contemplating the decision, the ex-human noted the whiteness that surrounded them was slowly decreasing in intensity, becoming more 'white' than pure white. "If the voice was right, we don't have a lot of time."

Ronin sighed, shaking his head. "You saved the life of my best friend and, for that, I owe you a debt. I will not leave you here, to waste away, especially if you have knowledge that can help us in the future.

He smiled, twisting the lower half of his tattoos. "Besides, the voice says you've got a destiny. Let's go. We have a world to save."

With that, they both walked through the door, shoulder to shoulder.


	5. Bonding

Ronin groaned as he rubbed his head, eyes fluttering open to reveal a sky filled with stars winking at him like fireflies. The tops of the trees waved in the wind, caused by a cool breeze that made the leaves brush together. A rustling in the bushes keyed him into the presence of a few critters, likely rabbits, and slow even breaths of a larger creature had him thinking of either a predatory animal or a person._ Larger animal, deep breaths, most likely human or elf, dwarves would be deeper, more drawn out Animals would be breathing faster. Most likely Duncan, judging by the size of his breaths, too big for an elf, lung capacity too small, unless he's exceptionally big…_

The influx of information had his head spinning, seeing how he had heard half of this – _at best_ – before he walked through the door.

_The door, the door, the door… what made that door appear? What made Hope's Revival appear in my story?_

The unsystematic snapping and crackling in addition to a faint glow against his eyelids and the feeling of warmth meant fire. Fire meant humans, so Ronin assumed Duncan was sitting nearby, probably waiting for him to awaken from his darkspawn blood induced loss of consciousness.

He sat up, head pounding anew as he shifted from his supine position to sitting up. As expected, a fire crackled nearby, with Duncan sitting on a log with a stick in hand, poking at stray sticks that fell out of the circle of stones he'd made at the base of the fire.

"So… you survived," said Duncan, armor clanking lightly as he straightened up. "As I suspected you would."

He walked over and extended a hand, helping Ronin to his feet and steadying him while the newest elven Warden got his feet under him. He bowed his head slightly with a smile on his face. "Welcome to the Wardens."

"Well… that was _fun_," Ronin joked, rolling his shoulders. "We only have to do that once, right?"

Duncan chuckled lightly as he reached into one of the pouches at his side. "Yes, brother. Only once."

Withdrawing his hand from the pouch, he held out a glass vial, only a centimeter tall and half as thick, on a leather braid which was topped with a silver tiny silver griffon. The vial contained a deep red liquid, which Ronin knew was darkspawn blood from knowing the game and the strange new sense that was like a finger pointing it out. "After the Joining, we take a little blood and put it in this pendent, to remind us of those who never made it this far."

Ronin took it in hand and traced his left hand over the griffon, painstakingly etched in fine detail out of silver. A thrill through his right arm – much like the thrum through one's body would feel from being too close to a loud speaker, most likely with a heavy bass to it – had him raising an eyebrow. "Is this enchanted?"

"Yes. We have them made by the dwarves of Orzammar and enchanted by the mages at the Circle," said Duncan, also raising an eye at the lightshow emanating from his arm. "The silver will supposedly last forever."

Ronin threw the leather strap around his neck and tucked it beneath his shirt, noting the fact that his arm was bare. The flowery tracings across his arm had spread from the outer parts of his arm to his inner forearm, bicep, and palm rather than sticking to the outside of his limb. "Did you uncover my arm?"

"Ah, yes…" said Duncan, still staring at the lines and swirls across his arm with interest. "It started shining through the wrappings you had on. Besides, I was very curious about the events that transpired to give you that."

Duncan handed him a few rolls of bandages before striding into the forest, headed for the camp. "I leave in the morning, brother. I expect to see you inside a week."

"How will I know where to go?" the new elven Warden asked as he wrapped his arm in the bandages, which were thick enough for a single layer to block out the glow.

"Go to the King's estate in Denerim. Ask for the Wardens." With that said, Duncan disappeared, heading back towards the camp, treading almost as light as an elf in the relative silence of the night. Ronin followed after him, stopping just inside the perimeter next to the tree he had woken up beneath when he entered this universe. The bedroll he'd left was still there, so he shook it out, laid it flat, and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>He slept well for the most part, waking once in the night when his dreams became marred by flashes of dark caverns and snarling darkspawn. He smiled grimly as he stretched back out and stared up at the stars.<p>

_Ten years from now, let's see how well the darkspawn fare against me…_

Ronin awoke as the top of the sun appeared above the horizon, hurriedly dressing as to avoid any questions about his arm, which had come slightly uncovered while he tossed and turned on the forest floor. A new cloak had been left by his side, same size and color of his old one. _Duncan, probably._

One he was dressed and armored –minus the right hand glove and bracer- he took up his bow and when to the practice ranges, nodding to the sentry who was just walking in from his patrol. _Let's see how much I've gotten from Ronin_… he thought, putting an arrow on his string.

He rested his index and middle fingers above and below the arrow and prepared to draw.

_Snap!_

The bow sprang from its bent position to the point where it would normally be while the bow was unstrung, nearly hitting the unsuspecting elf in the head. Ronin was confused until he looked at the fingers on his right hand.

The heavy leather glove he'd put on, made for extreme use on a bowstring, had been cut through at his fingertips, displaying the sharpened talons on his hand.

_Fuck! _Ronin mentally shouted as he stared down at his hand, cursing himself for his stupidity. _These claws ripped through _granite _with ease! How am I supposed to shoot a bow when I have razor sharp claws on my han-_

_Snikt_

The claws retracted into his fingertips, leaving the former razor sharp points blunt, like his hand before the mirror. _That's interesting_, thought Ronin as he raised his hand to eye level and ejected his claws again, the _snikt_ sound accompanying it each time. A few repeated actions of drawing and sheathing his claws had him chuckling under his breath as he walked towards the Craftmaster's aravel, intent on getting a new bowstring. _Great… I'm like Wolverine, but on one hand…_

The camp was very quiet, since only a few elves were up and about. An older elf sat outside the aravel, running a blade over a piece of blue ironbark with a glowing brazier next to her. Every so often, she would reach towards the brazier, with a heavily gloved hand, and remove a slightly glowing rod of steel.

She brought it close to the wood, heating it slightly so that it was still malleable enough to carve. Once you began the process of carving ironbark, you have to keep the heat at a specific range, as it would harden considerably once the wood's temperature fell beneath that range. Too much heat would warp the wood irreparably, while too little would cause the project to become solid before it was ready and possibly damage it. After the crafting was finished, it had to be dipped in an herbal solution that would lock it in its position, so it wouldn't warp any further if placed in or near a fire. It would burn like any wood after a time, but it wouldn't change its shape until it became ash.

"Aneth ara, Ronin Mahariel of the Grey Wardens," she said, inclining her head slightly in his direction while not taking her eyes off the wood in hand. Using a metal rod to heat a small piece of ironbark in an uncovered hand was an incredibly dangerous task, which showed by the small scars on her hands and fingertips – remnants of miniscule burns that ranged from a millimeter to an inch in length – that the healers could remove but were mostly asked to leave to serve as a reminder. "What can the Craftmistress do for you?"

"My bowstring was cut, Mistress Tári," replied Ronin, holding out the bow for her to see, the severed ends still attached to the nocks at the bow tips. "I would purchase a new one if you have one on hand."

"Of course, da'len," said Tári, still looking at her craft. "A moment, if you will. The carving is almost done."

After several moments of carving, Ronin broke the silence after running through his memories of Tári. "Who is the amulet for, Mistress Tári?"

"While you were out with the Warden Duncan, Marethari spoke with Tamlen and Merrill about the agreement struck between the clan and the Order of the Grey Wardens," she said, using long, smooth and slow strokes on the charm, occasionally flipping the blade around to carve a delicate curve or sharp angle. "They decided, since you are Tamlen's Second, to move up the date of their wedding to the end of the week, rather than the month, so that you can stand with him."

Second: At a typical Dalish wedding ceremony, there were two Seconds, one chosen by the bride and one by the groom. Much like the position of a best man or a bridesmaid, the Seconds were the third most important characters at a wedding. The typical Second would stand with the groom and bride before the Keeper, along with his or her counterpart, while the vows were read.

Traditionally, the Second was an assigned guardian to the bride or groom that would protect their charge in the rare event of an attack during the proceeding, as the bride and groom would not be carrying weapons. This had been primarily enforced during the Exalted Marches sent against the Dalish, when surprise attacks from the humans were a major threat, but had fallen to more modernized roles as the need to be constantly on guard diminished. It was more of a symbolic gesture now, though they were still fully armed and armored despite the lack of major threats.

"I am honored by their actions." Ronin felt a swell of happiness in his chest, glad that he could stand with his clan-brother. "I hope it isn't too much of an inconvenience for the clan."

"It puts a small burden on the rest of us, since most of us will have to hurry with our gifts," Mistress Tári said in a mock angry tone, though the smile on her face was giving it away. She held up a finished amulet, which held an incredibly detailed portrait of Tamlen and Merrill within a circle inscribed with words of elvish. The unfinished one sat in her lap for the moment as she displayed its twin. "Do you think they will like them?"

"They are beautiful, Mistress," said Ronin, thinking of the pair of hunting knives he had secretly traded for when he'd seen Tamlen stare at them the last time they met another clan during their travels. They were finely crafted by dwarven smiths and made of high quality steel that would glow a bluish tint in the sunlight. They would make an excellent gift for his clan-brother. For Merrill, however, he'd not thought of a gift yet. _That's a problem…_

Tári placed the unfinished amulet on a special tray held above the heat, out of reach of most of the heat but close enough to keep it warm and malleable. It would be alright for a moment while she got Ronin a new bowstring, but not for long, which is the reason she hurried as she rummaged through the drawers of the aravel.

"Here you are, Ronin," she said as she handed him the coiled string, quickly returning to her seat to check on the amulet. "Creators guide your path."

"And yours as well." With his bowstring in hand, he journeyed back to the practice range, ready to try his hand at archery once again. The only things on his mind were shooting his bow and what he should get Merrill.

* * *

><p>Tamlen awoke in his aravel, stretching out his back as he sat up. He dressed casually; only wearing his light clothing he usually wore underneath his armor, and stepped out into the sunlight filtering down between the leaves of the forest, intent on practicing his skills in the archery range.<p>

His ears twitched at the unusual sound of an arrow slipping through the air not more than four feet away from the aravel he slept in. Unusual, due to the fact that his aravel was two hundred paces from the targets the clan had set up when they settled here.

He looked around the aravel, looking in the opposite direction of the targets, to find Ronin standing another fifty feet behind that, calmly sighting down an arrow's length.

"Aneth ara, Tamlen!" he called as he released the arrow, sending the black shaft in a graceful arc to thud into the target. He noted Tamlen's look of shock as he drew another arrow and adjusted for the slight westerly wind. As Tamlen approached him, Ronin shot again, hitting the target an inch away from the last one.

"Aneth ara, Ronin," said Tamlen, adjusting the quiver strap on his shoulder. "When did you start practicing?"

"An hour after dawn." Tamlen looked at the sun and judged that he'd been practicing for about an hour and a half at least, give or take a few minutes.

"Have you done anything else?" he asked, knowing that his lethallin did not do anything halfway. A look down the range at the target, a circular target a foot in diameter, showed all the arrows bunched together in the center ring, about the size of a clenched fist.

"Besides thinking of a gift for your betrothed? No, not really," said Ronin as another arrow flew like a black thunderbolt from his bow, hitting the target a few seconds later with an audible _thunk_. "I was feeling a bit rusty, so I thought I would practice a bit."

"You're hitting a foot sized circle at two hundred and fifty paces. I think you're good."

Ronin chuckled as he loosened the tension in the bow before placing the arrow he almost used back in his quiver. "Maybe… never hurts to practice."

Tamlen shook his head, not bothering to argue anymore as Ronin slung his bow over his quiver. "How's the arm?"

Ronin shrugged as he removed the heavy glove he wore and held up his hand for Tamlen's appraisal. The blonde elf's eyebrows rose at the lack of claws adorning the hand's fingertips. "Where did your claws go?"

He jumped back in alarm as Ronin flexed his fingers and willed his claws back out, the sound of metal grinding on metal accompanying the movement as the black razors made themselves present once again. "Ta-da!"

Tamlen crouched, grabbed a stone about the size of his closed fist, and tossed it to Ronin, who merely smiled and casually spun in place, swiping at the rock. Four gouges formed in the rock before it was caught in the same hand that had cut it, though the claws were no longer out.

"They're still sharp as ever, but I can retract them now," said Ronin as he tossed the rock between his hands, getting faster as he went until he extended his claws again and sent the rock flying in several pieces. "Good thing, too. I've already cut a bowstring and I don't want to that again."

Tamlen chuckled as he drew his own bow and nocked an arrow. A smooth draw and release had his arrow sailing towards the target… only to land forty paces too short. Ronin smirked as Tamlen hung his head before walking over to dig his arrow out of the turf.

"Warning shot," Tamlen called over his shoulder as he heard a chuckle from behind him.

"A little low!" returned Ronin, forcing down his laughter as to not irritate his friend. "Warning shots are supposed to go past the target!"

"Seth'lin!"

Ronin's yell of outrage died on his lips as Merrill walked out from between a pair of aravel, a cross look to her face as she looked downrange to her soon to be bondmate. "Tamlen! Language!"

Tamlen groaned as he stooped to pick up his arrow while Ronin dropped to his knees, laughing uproariously. "Sorry, emma'asha!"

"Don't apologize to me! Don't insult your lethallin!" she said, hands on her hips. Ronin had to admit she cut an imposing figure when she wanted to. It didn't work on him, of course, but Tamlen immediately wilted under the glare she threw his way.

"Abelas, lethallin," he yelled back at Ronin, who was just getting up from his knees.

"Forget it, my friend!" said Ronin, beginning his own walk towards the targets. "It took me an arrow or two before I hit the target."

"Care to join us for breakfast, Ronin?" asked Merrill, holding Tamlen's hand as they walked towards the center of camp.

"No, but thank you for the invitation," said Ronin as he started pulling arrows out of the targets, trying to remove them without damaging them beyond a minor repair. "I have to finish a few things."

* * *

><p>The clan was in a flurry over the next couple of days. The hunters were out en masse, hunting for deer and the like for the wedding feast, some out for a couple days at a time. Ilen and Tári were busy with the making of Merrill's dress and Tamlen's wedding suit, making the forest green dress and suit seem much more intricate and delicate than they actually were, as if they were made of silk rather than the linen and cotton.<p>

The soon-to-be-married couple saw little of Ronin outside of mealtimes, and even then he rarely showed up on time or at all. He was always out in the forest, only taking his weapons and a few pieces of dried meat.

When Tamlen tried to follow him, he wound up tracking the elusive elf in circles, having followed a false trail, or being stopped by Theron, who seemed to have sentry duty a lot more than usual.

Even Merrill, who regularly used magic to track people and animals, couldn't follow him, even though she spelled his bow, his blades, even his boots with a tiny spell. Yet, every time she thought she had him, she only found the object she laid the spell on, hidden out of the way to lead her on a wild goose chase. She had yet to figure out how he managed that particular feat. Ronin would only smile at her when she asked, making her more frustrated and determined to catch her clan-brother sooner or later.

Thus far she has been unsuccessful.

The night before the wedding, Ronin slunk back into camp with his hood over his head, appearing to be more living shadow than elf. He appeared before the sentry like a wraith, which nearly stopped his heart with fright. He would've woken the camp had Ronin not put a hand over his mouth before he could scream. Once the sentry saw it was Ronin, he nodded in greetings before he went back to calming his heart rate to more acceptable levels.

With nary a sound, he entered his aravel and began to disarm, unstringing his bow and hanging his quiver on its hook. He was halfway through the process of taking off his shirt when a voice startled him into spinning around. _The problem with living in a camp of hunters: we all can walk silently…_

"You've been very secretive, lethallin," Ashalle said, poking her head through the curtain that separated her section of the aravel. "Why are you never here-"

She broke off at the sight of Ronin's bare right arm, bluish-white lights glowing slightly against the black flesh in the near-darkness. "What happened to you?"

Ronin sighed as he sat down heavily against the wall of the aravel, wiping sweat off his face with his black hand. He was silent for a minute, in which Ashalle had walked over and knelt at his side. He took a deep breath and proceeded to explain.

"When Merrill, Tamlen, and I were sent out to reinforce Duncan, he told us that we would have to destroy the mirror that made me sick… when I tried, something reached out and stopped me, before trying to tug me through the mirror."

Ashalle gasped as he took her hands in his, looking incredulously at the lack of warmth that was usually accompanied by flesh. A touch of her fingers at his wrist resulted in a worried look at the lack of a heartbeat, flexibility and permeability of his arm. "What was it?"

"I don't know… and even if I wanted to, I couldn't ask. The mirror was destroyed and I got this," he said, gesturing at his arm. "The glowing was limited to my outer arm, but spread to my inner arm when I became a Grey Warden."

"This is why you were always out of the camp, yes? So no one would ask questions?"

Ronin shrugged as he reached for his pack, dragging it over rather than lifting it. "More or less."

He pulled out a small statue, finely detailed, featuring Merrill and Tamlen. Merrill sat upon a rock with her legs folded beneath her, holding her staff lightly between her fingers and bore a smile that could light up the room. Tamlen sat at the base of the stone cross-legged, his sword across his knees and leaning back against his shield.

The tiny sculpture was intricately detailed, showing intricate details such as the weave on their clothes, the wear on the handles of their weapons, and the hair on their heads. Even their faces were done in great detail, going so far as to trace out their vallaslin in the lightest of scratches.

"You made this?" asked Ashalle, hesitantly running a finger over the form of Tamlen, as if the stone would crumble at her touch. "How?"

Ronin held up his hand, palm up, before slowly releasing the claws. His fingertips lengthened and sharpened, forming deadly and wickedly sharp points accompanied by a sound of grinding metal that had Ashalle recoiling slightly, clutching at her chest in fright. "These claws are sharp enough to cut stone more easily than we can cut flesh with a razor blade. It was no difficulty to carve this when I had a steady hand."

Ashalle stared at his arm with wide eyes, even after Ronin retracted his claws and put his hand down at his side, moving slowly as not to frighten her. When she finally spoke, her voice was a soft whisper that was a hair above inaudible. To his knowledge, Ashalle only adopted that particular tone when she was frightened and not sure what to do, when she was out of her league. "Does the Keeper know?"

"She and Duncan spoke at length about it," he said, studying the whorls and coils that spread up his arm in light tones of blue. "It seems neither of them knows of any similar circumstances. After I join the rest of the Wardens at Denerim, perhaps I'll venture to the Circle of Magi… see if they know anything."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Tamlen and Merrill know, but that's everyone."

"They're your friends… they won't tell anyone without your permission," said Ashalle, slumping back against the wall with a sigh, that matter settled for the moment.

Ronin nodded to himself and rewrapped his arm, making sure the slight glow was muted enough to go unnoticed out amongst the clan, which made him almost curse the fact that his race had the best eyesight in Thedas.

He looked back and stopped short of leaving the aravel at the sight of Ashalle sitting in her chair, running her hands over a small green blanket. Fluffy, soft, warm looking. He felt his heart wrench in recognition. _Aw, crap…that's my baby blanket._

As Ronin made his way over to his surrogate mother, he saw tears streaming down her face and silent sobs wracking at her thin frame. "Ashalle? Are you okay?"

Ashalle didn't answer. She began to cry harder as she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Ronin, after being shocked by the sudden embrace, started rubbing her back, trying to comfort her. Prior experience with crying women proved that it was a semi effective technique in helping them calm down enough to talk.

After several minutes of sobbing, Ashalle released him and leant back into the chair, her eyes reed and puffy from the crying. Ronin crouched down beside the chair, rubbing her hand in a comforting manner. "Why are you crying, mamae?"

Instead of comforting her as he intended, Ronin's use of _mother_, something he had not done for years, only sent her into more tears, grasping at his arm and burying her face in his neck. _Oh… she's upset because I'm leaving after the wedding tomorrow._

"Ashalle, no matter who I was born to, no matter where I go, I will always be your son," promised Ronin, meaning it with all his being. "You raised me to be one of the Elvhen, one of the Dalish, and you taught me how to tell right from wrong…you taught me everything worth knowing."

Despite the growing area of dampness on his shirt from Ashalle's tears, he felt her smile against his chest. After a few broken breaths, she leant back in the chair and rubbed at her eyes, trying to dry the tears with the back of her hand. She smiled nonetheless, happy and sad at the same time.

"Well, you're smiling so that's a start," said Ronin, dropping down from his crouch to sit at her feet.

"It's going to be so hard to see you leave," she said, very close to crying again. "You've lived with us for twenty-six years. It's going to be hard to never see you again, never to eat a meal around the fire with you, watch the stars like we always do, repair the heavy fur blankets we use for winter."

"As a Grey Warden, I'm going to be patrolling for darkspawn all around Ferelden. I'm sure I'll be around for the Arlathvhen in a few years. It is in two years, isn't it?"

She smiled and swatted him over the head. "Of course it is. You know very well that it is."

"See? Now you're smiling!" he joked, dodging another swat with room to spare. "We're on the right track."

She smiled and dried the last of her tears. She smoothed the baby blanket in her lap, her eyes drifting off to an old memory that made her smile. "You were such a cute da'len, you know?"

"Let's not go into that, please?"

"Do you remember the time I was chasing you? You cornered yourself and slapped your hands over your eyes," she said, beginning to chuckle. "I came around the corner and dropped to the ground because I was laughing so hard."

"I was six! Tamlen said that 'If I can't see you, you can't see me.' That's how camouflage works."

* * *

><p>The clan was gathered before the Keeper's aravel, which was now covered with a field's worth of flowers of all types, creating a beautiful arch of assorted colors. Every elf in the clan was present, all with smiles on their faces and wearing their finest clothes for the bonding.<p>

Tamlen stood at the outskirts of the crowd, dressed in the suit the Craftmasters had created for him. It was a deep forest green, with a lighter trim around the collar and cuffs. Along the arms were leaves, branches, deer, and snakes embroidered in golden thread. Other lines and whorls were made of dark thread of similar hue as his vallaslin, as if his facial tattoos had spread to his clothes and went from neck to feet. His feet were shod in well kept, yet worn, leather boots that reached up to mid-calf, shined to a perfection that would make any soldier from the modern world green with envy. The Dalish promise ring he'd carved himself over a period of two months gleamed from his ring finger, worked to a gleam with a fine linseed oil and wax he'd got from a dwarven trader that had wandered close to the camp. He played a handsome figure, dressed to impress.

Ronin stood next to him, decked out in full combat gear, cloak on, hood up, arms folded and fingers twitching slightly in preparation should anything happen. Bow leaning on his shoulder – directly beside the quiver of black-shafted, golden-fletched arrows – with his dual long knives in their respective sheaths directly beneath the quiver, strapped in hilts down. In the spirit of duty to his lethallin, as he rarely used more than those weapons, he wore a trio of smaller knives in the quiver strap, their respective sheaths simply threaded onto it, leaving them to hang just under his left arm. A pair of throwing knives were in the sides of his boots, which would surprise his friends had they known, especially in both boots.

Across the crowd, opposite Tamlen and Ronin, and the same distance from the Keeper's aravel, stood Merril, Altáriël and Ashalle. Since Merrill was originally of the Alerion clan, she had no blood relatives to stand by her for the bonding. Keeper Marethari and Merrill had discussed the matter in depth and it had been decided that, if willing, Ashalle would stand with her. Ashalle had agreed wholeheartedly.

Ashalle was dressed in a simple – yet elegant – green dress, sleeveless, tied with a simple ribbon around her waist. It went to just above her toes, which were shod in leather boots, almost identical to Tamlen's. _Unsurprising, seeing how she made mine, his and her own, along with the boots of most here._

Altáriël was dressed in traditional elven mage battle robes: light leather torso armor emblazoned with trees and stars – much like that of the hunters – that flared out into a half skirt that covered the back of her legs to the knee over a long sleeved tunic, leaving the sleeves to dangle to her knuckles. A pair of leather greaves adorned her shins, reinforced with thin strips of ironbark, covering soft leather boots that were in a state of great use but well cared for, same as the fingerless gloves she wore. A pair of daggers was sheathed at her left hip, both in easy reach should someone become good enough to avoid her spell-fire and engage in melee range. Not that she really needed them, but it was useful to have a backup plan. A cloak completed the ensemble – much like his – her own hood pulled down far enough to encase her eyes in shadows.

_Probably so that no one can tell where she is looking_, Ronin thought, reminding himself to thank Merrill for the spell she laid upon his cloak, which kept his eyes shrouded in the shadows of his hood even if one were to thrust a light right beneath his nose. _I assume she's done the same thing._

Even at the distance she was from him, he could tell her eyes were shifting all around under the hood. Her head moved a fraction of an inch to the left, then right, and then up. It was a natural reaction – her head moving to follow the path of her eyes – that was very hard to catch unless you were looking for it.

As Merrill's Second, she was being as vigilant as he, maybe more so. She had the advantage over him, being able to simultaneously attack at close-, middle- and far-range without switching weapons, but his speed, reflexes, muscles, senses were much, much faster than that of a mage, even a Dalish trained one. While she and Merrill had learned magic and lore at the Keeper's feet, Ronin and Tamlen had done the same with Paivel and Ilen, who taught them all they knew of hunting, tracking, and fighting.

Hopefully, they wouldn't have to prove who was faster on the draw – the master hunter or the third mage of the Sabrae clan – should the worst occur.

Merrill stood beside her chosen guardian, her dress beautiful in its simplicity. A knot sat upon her shoulder, the free ends mimicking a bow that fluttered in the air, leaving her other shoulder bare. The incredibly light green dress had been treated with such care by the Craftmasters that there were no visible seams on the delicate fabric, as if it were one piece of fabric from the very beginning. Several lines of written elvish were written along the hem, excerpts from one of the books the Keepers all had. The dress looked as if Merrill had been wrapped in it before completion and had been sewn together whilst still wearing it, the fabric accentuating the slender physique and gentle curves of her body. On her left hand, the second of the pair of rings Tamlen made rested, shining almost as much as Tamlen's.

"You're a lucky man, lethallin," said Ronin, speaking out of the corner of his mouth as his gaze drifted off the bride's party and back to his job. She was smiling – Ronin could tell, even without seeing her face – by the way her ears were shifting as she talked to Altáriël. He could easily imagine her smile, glowing like the sun and twisting her vallaslin into beautiful shapes. "She's beautiful."

"Should I be worried that you're looking at my bondmate?" asked Tamlen, still with his back to the aravel, but smiling all the same. It was considered bad luck for either of the bonded pair to see each other on the day of their wedding ceremony, so most pairs separate as soon as they awake in the mornings and stay on one side of the camp for the entirety of the day.

"Of course not," Ronin said in a sweet tone that Tamlen knew immediately. It was the one he adopted when he knew something that Tamlen didn't, usually when he found some minuscule detail in a track or something like that. "But the tapping of your right foot, the way you're twisting your hands, and the numerous twitches of your head towards either side indicate that you want to see her. I'm just helping you."

"Of course you are."

"Hush," hissed Ronin, the grin disappearing from his face as Ashalle moved away from the bridal party and approached the Keeper's aravel. "Ashalle is almost at the aravel. We'll be starting soon."

Tamlen stood ramrod straight, his eyes wide and his heart beating fast. His breaths became quicker, the nervousness he'd been feeling all day was hitting him with a vengeance. "Oh, Creators. What happens if I mess it up? I stumble in the words or I –"

Tamlen's father, Cίrdan, a broad shouldered, well-muscled elf wearing a brown long coat and an eye patch over his left eye sat on a stool at the Keeper's left, his face proud as he steepled his fingers over the edge of his cane. The elderly man had led the counter attack that held off and sent running an attacking tribe of Chasind, holding a narrow spot in the ravine the clan had been traversing. Ronin had been twelve at the time, but old enough to wield a bow with enough skill to cripple several of the attacking tribe.

The victory had cost him an eye and a little mobility in his right leg, but he was still one of the most respected warriors of the clan. He'd taken to dual wielding his cane and a dar'misaan, using the crook to latch onto a limb, be it leg or arm, and wrench it horribly, sending the captive to the ground to receive a stab.

The Chasind who survived the battle called him "Tanika Sumanitu Taka," the Old Wolf. Any of the other tribes who knew him treated him with the greatest respect and kept their own clans from attacking the Sabrae.

He waved to Ronin as Ashalle did the same to Altáriël. The bonding ceremony had begun.

Tamlen was cut off as Ronin grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around. He opened his mouth to continue spouting his nerves, but closed his mouth with a click as he followed Ronin's pointing finger.

Across from him stood his angel, his gift from the Creators, his Merrill, smiling at him in all her splendor. His nerves settled, his breathing and heartbeat slowed, and he stood more relaxed, not tight with fear as he had been. He met his father`s eyes as he strode forward, his head held high, and smiled as his father positively swelled with pride.

Tamlen and Merrill arrived before the Keeper at the same time, their armed shadows following close at hand. As they faced the Keeper, the Seconds stepped to stand beside the Keeper, facing the crowd with a covered hand close to a weapon and a heat mirage emanating from uncovered fingers.

Tamlen's father placed his hand on his son's shoulder as Ashalle did the same for Merrill, whispering a few words of encouragement in their ears. The Keeper smiled, ready to begin her part in the ceremony.

"Brothers and sisters! Today we celebrate the bonding of Tamlen and Merrill, one of our finest hunters and my First," said Marethari, her voice carrying over the silent crowd with the help of a minor spell, making it easily heard by all. "We would be celebrating a month from now, but _someone _has to leave."

Ronin grinned as the crowd let out a few chuckles at his expense, repressing the urge to pick at the ironbark in his armor or duck his head like he would usually do. A part of his mind noted that the small crack had leaked the tension out of the air, making Merrill and Tamlen relax. _Those two are going to explode if this keeps going_, thought Ronin, chuckling inwardly.

"As our ancestors have done before us, so we shall do now. We are the lifeblood of the Elvhen, the last of the true elves and we keep our ways from fading from the world. We are the last of the Elvhenan!"

"Never again shall we submit," chorused everyone present, finishing the oath, Tamlen and Merrill louder than most.

Marethari nodded serenely and reached down to grasp their hands, their fingers intertwined. She separated their hands, rotating them around so that they faced each other and that their hands were palm up, about two inches of space separating their fingertips.

A white braid circle was produced from Marethari's pocket and laid across both hands, on top of the heel of their hands, just below their palms. It was made from halla mane, some of the most delicate yet durable substances the Dalish had on hand. Water would run along it and simply flow right off instead of soaking it up like normal threads would. A blanket made of halla tresses would dry in a minute and could be soaked in water for an hour and still remain the same way, which is why most hunters used it as bowstrings and the like.

This braid, however, was not for any random use. This was part of the oaths a married couple made to each other.

"Tamlen, do you swear to care for Merrill for as long as you live?" asked Marethari, looking Tamlen directly in the eye.

"Yes."

Ronin smiled as he heard the force Tamlen was putting into that simple word. _He'll walk into the darkspawn for her._

At Tamlen's positive answer, Marethari pulled a small ornamental knife from her belt and swiftly cut a line through his palm.

"Tamlen, do you swear to honor Merrill for as long as you live?"

"Yes."

Another cut.

"Tamlen, do you swear to protect Merrill for as long as you live?"

"Yes."

A final cut.

Tamlen's hand now had three parallel slices through his palm, just above the braid. Marethari folded his fingers around the braid, soaking up the blood with the hair and staining half the circlet scarlet with his blood. He hadn't made a sound as the lines were carved, merely smiling at Merrill without flinching, his love clear on his face.

Marethari turned to Merrill, cleaning the knife on a small piece of cloth. "Merrill, do you swear to care for Tamlen for as long as you live?"

"Yes." Merrill's answer was as fervent as Tamlen's, maybe more so.

Her palm was cut, just as fast as Tamlen's, and, just like him, she made no noise, merely smiling as happy tears formed in her eyes.

"Merrill, do you swear to honor Tamlen for as long as you live?"

"Yes."

"Merrill, do you swear to protect Tamlen for as long as you live?"

"Yes."

With Merrill's cuts made, Marethari put away the blade and folded Merrill's fingers, staining her half of the braid crimson.

"As your blood mingles in the braid, so do your souls. Let no man put asunder what has transpired today," intoned the Keeper, a smile on her face as she raised a small box under the bloody braid. When the braid was sealed in the box, she stopped the bleeding with a touch of magic and faced the new couple towards the crowd. "Bound by blood and vow, as is tradition. Welcome them, brothers and sisters!"

Everyone screamed their approval as Tamlen swept Merrill into his arms and kissed her. Fists were thrown into the air as the hunters voiced their support of their lethallin, giving them a hunter's high pitched battle cry.

Ronin raised his fist as he inhaled, but stopped short.

_What are those_, he wondered, watching a trio of spheres fly through the air towards the crowd, slowly arcing towards the ground.

The hair rose on the back of his neck as he saw they was glass balls filled with powder and, beyond the edge of the aravel, he saw a trio of armored helms, eyes peering through the horizontal eye slit.

"Get dow-" was all he got out when the balls hit the ground and everything turned white as light and thunder deafened his senses.


	6. Bonding Interrupted

**Sorry for the delay between chapters. I've received several games and books at Christmas and have been heavily distracted by them.**

As a player of many of the _Call of Duty_, _Rainbow Six_, and various other war games, Ronin could say that the aftereffects of a flashbang were greatly underrated in terms of duration and magnitude.

In a game, the blinding light and white noise caused by a flashbang would be gone in about ten seconds, give or take.

Real life… or as close as he was to it, different story. He'd been rolling on the ground for at least forty-five seconds, by his own count, and the partial blindness, ringing in his ears, and the inability to stand without falling over had yet to fade as video games would have led him to believe. He refrained from trying to draw a blade, as the attackers had yet to do anything to him and he didn't want to provoke them into stabbing him while he was still laid out on the ground. _Getting sent to Dragon Age and dying from some Templar's sword ten years before the Blight? Disgraceful…_

After a further thirty seconds, the inability to see clearly had died down immensely. On the one hand, it allowed him to see his attackers as what they really were: Templars of the Chantry, armor glistening in the sunlight that filtered down through the canopy. They appeared exactly how he remembered them from the game; the heavy plating, ridiculous shoulder guards, Sword of Mercy emblazoned on the chest, some sort of skirt of red mixed with chainmail.

More or less, gaudy tin cans.

A trio of them stood apart, dressed in loose clothing and light leather armor, much like the Dalish hunters they were standing over. They, too, had their torso armor proclaiming their allegiance to the Templars. _That must be how none of us heard the clankers as they approached the camp_, thought Ronin as he got to his knees, testing his sense of balance.

_Damn. Still not good enough_, he thought as his semi upright position was shaky at best. Though, at the moment, as a Templar in full plate approached, he did not mind looking shaken and unbalanced. _Appearances can be deceiving and all that rubbish they taught us in high school._

The blade of the longsword put to his throat, however, was something he minded. Especially when his weapons were stripped from him; his bow thrown in the dirt, quiver, arrows, and long knives tossed behind him, knives unsheathed and discarded. All that was left were the throwing knives in his boots and the claws on his right hand. His cloak was also torn from his shoulders and the weapons piled on top of it, as if the Templar was going to wrap all the blades, bow and arrows in a bundle.

"Stay down, knife ear, if you know what's good for you." The Templar's voice was rough, gravelly, and given a metallic ring to it through his helmet. That being said, not overly intimidating in the scale of things. _I've heard better._

"What are Templars doing here, shem?" asked Ronin, spitting the words. This day had started off with such promise, now this. "Can't you see that we're having a bonding?"

"In my opinion, you elves are all savages. Your _bondings_ are nothing in the real world," sneered the Templar. Ronin could hear the smirk on his lips and wished his body was not still under the effects of the grenades. "You are a nothing. A speck of dust. You and all your ilk. Living in the dirt like animals, oblivious to the true ways of the world. The wiser among you recognize the shape of the future. They throw themselves at our feet and beg mercy. But not you, it seems. No... You cling desperately to your ways. Too ignorant to know your folly."

"In _my_ opinion," said Ronin, slowly and quietly, making the Templar lean forward to hear, "You Templars spend way too much time in that fancy armor of yours. The sun's obviously fried your brains in your helmet."

Moving surprisingly fast for a man in a full set of armor, the Templar pulled his sword from Ronin's neck and slammed the pommel into the elf's head, knocking him back to the dirt he had recently vacated. The boot across his throat stopped him from getting his legs under him for the second time and the point of the sword thrust into the ground an inch from his face had him barely moving, except for using his hands to pry at the religious zealot's foot in an attempt to alleviate the pressure.

"That's it; struggle in the dirt like the worm you are," said the Templar, leaning on his knee, eyes glinting behind the slit of his helmet. Without fear of a counterattack, dismissing Ronin as a threat, he looked over his shoulder to where the other Templars had been. "Have you grabbed the mages yet?"

"Yeah! Got three of them!" came the reply to his shouted question. Due to his position on the ground with a foot across his windpipe – however ineffective it was – couldn't properly see the others. When he heard a rattle of chainmail and a sound of metal smacking flesh, he nearly ejected his claws. The only thing that saved the Templar's foot from becoming a shredded mass of torn flesh and exposed bone was that he had just removed it, moving it out of immediate range.

"Corram, Hadrian! Tie them up and get them on their feet," said the Templar as he walked away from the downed hunter, dragging the cloak he'd torn off that had all the elf's weapons on it, receiving a pair of 'Yes, sir!'s from the two Templars he named. Ronin glared after him as he got himself up into a fighting crouch, eyes searching for chinks in the Templars armor.

_Beneath the arm, at the neck, at the crease of his elbows, the back of his knees, and the sides of his ankles_, he thought, analyzing the armor. They were all targets that normally needed to be exposed before being struck, but two were easily acted upon as the Templar was not facing him.

With the clanking of his plate armor and the metallic swish of his chainmail drowning out even a normal foot tread, sneaking up on the agent of the Chantry would be too easy for a hunter of the Dalish. He only stopped after a few silent steps forward at a low whistle, coming from behind him.

Tamlen and his father stood behind him, their fists tight in rage and their stances mirroring his own. Cίrdan held Tamlen's arm, his one eye flicking between Ronin and the Templars while shaking his head. Ronin nodded, straightening from his crouch and leaving his paired throwing knives where they sat in their boot sheathes. He drifted back to stand beside them. "Have we got a plan?"

"The Templars have done this before, Ronin. Back before you and Tamlen were born," whispered Cίrdan, yanking back Tamlen as he tried to take another step towards the Templars. He stared his son in the eye, pinning him to where he stood. "We know how to handle this."

"_How. Do. We. Handle this?_" asked Tamlen, his voice strained and his eyes wild. Ronin could understand his position, of course, seeing how his wife - a Dalish mage – was in the hands of religious zealots with anti-mage abilities.

"We let them go."

Cίrdan calmly reached out with his other hand and caught Tamlen by the shoulder as he broke his father's hold on his arm. With a quick twist of his wrist and flexing of his fingers, the hahren brought Tamlen to his knees with little effort. "Hamin, Tamlen!"

"How am I supposed to be calm? They have my bondmate!"

"We shall get her back," replied his father, a grim look about his face. He unhooked his cane from where it hung at his belt and limped away from the pair of hunters, moving to where the rest of the clan was now standing. They all looked shaken and angry, some blinking away the last of the aftereffects of the flashbombs. Ronin noticed several of the older hunters exchanged looks with Cίrdan as he approached, nodding in agreement to whatever he was saying in the unspoken conversation.

"Cίrdan, we will be ready to move as soon as they are gone," said Aerandir – an older hunter and close friend of Cίrdan – his voice low as he looked towards the aravel. "We'd be able to move sooner, but only the Seconds were to be armed."

"Good, lethallin. Gather the others," he said, grasping his friend on the shoulder. "Tamlen, Ronin, be ready to move."

Tamlen was still confused as to what was currently going on and it was making him angry. "Hey! What are we doi–"

"Oi! Knife-ears!"

Ronin shook his head as he turned towards the speaker. _These shem have no idea of the hornets nest they've kicked over_, he thought as he quickly calculated the angle for his knife to punch through the slit in the man's helmet. The Templar was at the extreme of his range, but he was confident that he could hit him.

"You savages stay where you are!" shouted the armored Templar who had stood on Ronin's throat. "We see any of you tree hugging worms, we slit one of your mages' throats."

With that said, the Templars, both heavily armored and not, walked back into the trees, forcing the bound and gagged mages with them.

Marethari looked calm, despite the cut above her left eye dripping blood down that side of her face. She locked eyes with Ronin and gave him a slight nod and a smile through her gag. She knew they were coming after her and the other mages. _She's probably gone through this before…_

Merrill tried to emulate the Keeper's calm, but there were cracks in the façade. She ignored everything but Tamlen, her eyes shining with hope and unshed tears. As she disappeared, she smiled at Tamlen, as if to say everything would be alright in the end.

Altáriël was actively struggling against her bonds, trying to break free. She caught a backhand across the face, the Templar's metal-lined gauntlet leaving gouges in her faces, the blood mingling with the tears the flowed down her face. Even through a gag, Ronin and the rest could hear her sobs. Ronin could hear the teeth being ground all around him as every hunter wished for their bows at this particular moment.

_She's probably been hit by some of the Templar's anti mage stuff… like Smite…_ thought Ronin as she was dragged out of sight.

"Move. Now!" said Cίrdan.

As one, the entirety of the clan sprang into action. Ronin ran over to his weapons and strapped everything back on, checking that everything was in working order. His knives had been unsheathed as the Templar disarmed him, but that was easily cleaned. His bow and arrows were in good condition, so there were no problems with that. Fully armed once again, he turned back to look for Tamlen, but nearly ran into Cίrdan.

"Ronin, you're in charge of the rescue," he said, holding up his hand to halt any protest before it could be voiced. He looped his arm around the younger hunter, leading him towards the aravel, so that they could speak privately. "You're angry, but not enough where it'll cloud your judgement. Tamlen would do something rash and get himself killed trying to take all of them single handed."

Ronin sighed, nodding at the hahren's logic. "What's the plan?"

"Closest human village is three days from here, a town called Ironbrook. They're probably headed that way. They won't stay in the forest for long, with _us._ They'll make for the safety of their Chantry, where there'll definitely be more of the Templars."

"So we stop them before they make it out of the Brecilian Forest?" asked Ronin, grabbing some trail rations from his aravel, stowing them in several pockets in his cloak and armor. He grabbed a coil of rope, just in case they took a Templar hostage to try and exchange for their mages. _Besides, you never know what when you're going to need some rope…_

"Hopefully, yes. If not, harry them all the way to Ironbrook if you have to."

"There's only fifteen of them."

"We only saw fifteen. They could have a camp or reinforcements waiting for them."

"True," said Ronin, having not thought of that in his haste. "We'll just have to adapt if that's the case."

"Good, good. Now, we're moving the camp east, deeper into the forest," said Cίrdan, pointing off into the trees. "We'll leave markings for you when you are done."

"Very well," returned the younger hunter. He looked over to the clearing where, just an hour ago, the bonding had taken place. Now, it was a flurry of motion as gear and personal items were packed away as quickly as possible. He noted Tamlen angrily pacing amongst the other hunters who had assembled.

Tamlen had torn off his wedding clothes as fast he could, quickly replacing it with some light clothing of the same type that he usually wore under his heavier armor. His sword belt was quickly cinched around his waist, making the chainmail he wore jingle as the leather forced it to move. His shield was thrown over his shoulder, the thick leather strap holding it in place as he bounded over to stand by the other hunters who had gotten their own gear.

He looked like he was ready to run off on his own and try to take the Templars down on his own, so Ronin reached out and pushed him down onto a log with a glare that said 'stay down or else.' He struggled for a second but quickly relaxed when Cίrdan appeared at his side; his hand on Tamlen's other shoulder and calming words in his ear.

He relaxed a bit as the other hunters assembled around him, Cίrdan and Ronin, performing last second checks as they waited for Tamlen's father to speak.

"Hunters!" shouted Cίrdan, bringing all twelve hunters to a halt. A fire was in the eye of the hahren, one that Ronin had seen once before. He felt a chill right down to his bones, remembering the massacre that had followed that look. "Templars have invaded a sacred bonding!"

The hunters roared their disapproval, startling the others of the clan who were in the process of packing up the clan's aravel. They were moving camp, their position compromised, to ensure that the Templars could not just come back and find their mages again. As usual, packing the camp would take barely any time at all, since they never stayed in one place for too long.

"They've kidnapped our mages!" yelled Cίrdan, staring each of the hunters in the eye as he limped through the group. His roar was drowned out as the hunters screamed out war cries once more.

"They've kidnapped my son's bondmate!" Tamlen's howl of pain and outrage rang loudest amongst the hunting party. The raw emotion in his scream hit deep in every hunter's chest, striking a chord that brought shades of red across their vision.

Now, the hunters weren't just angered at the kidnapping. There were lines you did not cross with elves, particularly the Dalish, where family is one of the most important things to them.

They were _enraged._

"Will we allow this transgression to stand?" asked Cίrdan, his voice low and dangerous after the rumbling thunder it had been just seconds ago. "Will we let these humans take our family?"

"_No_!" roared the hunters, Ronin, Theron and Tamlen loudest amongst them. Their blood pumping, adrenaline running through their veins, and their breathing fast and shallow.

"Well, lethallin, lethallan," said the Tanika Sumanitu Taka, his eye dangerous.

He whispered one word, one syllable that unleashed angry Elvhen upon unsuspecting humans:

"Hunt."


	7. Attack

**I'm back.**

* * *

><p>As the hunting party moved through the woods at a brisk jog, Ronin was glad for the Templar's heavy plate armor. It would keep them going slow, so it would be relatively easy to catch up to them, despite the head start. Despite the time it felt for Ronin to get ready and the rest of the hunters to gather their gear and help with the pack up of the camp, they had wasted a good three-quarters of an hour.<p>

Another thing that helped them vastly was the fact that the Templars were not natives of the forest and their trails reflected this. Large detours around simple things like small cliffs and ravines kept them from making good time on the three day journey to Ironbrook.

Unfortunately for the Elvhen hunters, the Templars were prepared for hunting parties. The Ronin and the Dalish had stumbled upon the remnants of a camp an hour into their journey, the coals of the bonfire in the center still warm to the touch. Ronin had seen enough tracks to estimate the current force of mage hunters at thirty, double the force they had seen earlier.

_Cίrdan was right_, he thought as he knelt by the tracks, grabbing a scrap of cloth that had probably torn off one of their tabards. The former wearer's scent was all over it, tempered by the scent of oil, dirt, body odour and what he thought was shaving cream. _He used this part of his armor as a rag_, thought Ronin as he stood, passing the scrap to Tamlen.

Tamlen took a sniff as well, catching the scent as quick as his lethallin. Ronin looked concerned as he bared his teeth in a grin that looked very out of place on his face. Tamlen was usually smiling, or at least smirking. He'd never shown a smile like that. Animalistic. Hungry. Almost deranged

"Ronin!" shouted Theron from other side of the disturbed ground of the campsite, distracting him from his friend. His voice was filled with frustration and worry, which made Ronin rush over as fast as he could. Theron was usually calm, soft spoken, rarely panicking.

_Things just got worse_, thought Ronin as he looked down at the animal tracks beneath his feet. The tracks were familiar from both of his lives.

The Templars had _horses_.

When Theron had called him over to look at the tracks, Tamlen had followed. Ronin had winced in sympathy as Tamlen looked over his shoulder. Tamlen started cursing under his breath as Ronin looked westward, where the tracks led away from the scrapped camp. The speed of the horses would balance the advantage about knowing how to quickly traverse the terrain. If they didn't move now, the Dalish would be left behind.

"Lethallin! Move out!" he shouted, jogging into the forest, quickly followed by the other hunters. A new sense of urgency filled them, giving them a boost of energy to improve their haste. They weren't going to lose without a fight.

The scent was growing stronger, slightly diluted against the scent of horses, but stronger nonetheless. Something else that made it clear that they were catching up was the neighing of horses, sounds of conversation and the glow of fire beneath the cliff line.

Ronin gave a quick birdcall, bringing them to a halt on top of a tiny cliff, about thirty feet above what appeared to be the Templar's new camp. The dozen hunters dropped prone and crawled to the edge, smearing their faces with dirt as they moved as to keep their faces from being easily spotted, should the Templar's look up. Ronin did so as well, despite nearly half of his face covered in his black vallaslin.

The camp was simple: a large central bonfire with a few large tents nearby, their backs against the cliff, a few smaller fires for cooking, and Merrill, Marethari and Altáriël tied to a trio of stakes driven into the ground. Four pairs of fully armored Templars travelled along the perimeter, just outside the light of the bonfire. The rest were milling about the camp, clustered around the cooking pots in varying states of undress, their armor strewn around their feet. Some were down to the regular clothes they wore beneath the armor, while others still had their boots and greaves on.

Ronin did a quick head count and found out his assumption of thirty wasn't that far off. Thirty eight Templars were in their makeshift camp, which wasn't as bad as his worst case scenario. They were only outnumbered a little fewer than three to one, but they had the high ground and the element of surprise.

As all Dalish are hunters in some form or another, they have all been well trained in archery. The dozen hunters atop the cliff could easily kill nearly half the group in a few volleys, but then it would be possible for the Templars to get to the mages and slit their throats as a last act of spite.

Therefore, Ronin signalled the hunters to stand down and move back from the cliff, despite the glare sent his way from Tamlen and a few who had drawn their bows and laid arrows across their strings. He shook his head at the rest while he looked Tamlen dead in the eye.

"We attack now, we risk getting them killed," whispered Ronin, his voice barely audible.

Tamlen shook his head, his bow still in hand and arrow nocked. "We don't move now, who knows what will happen to them!"

Ronin roughly grabbed his friend by the collar and pulled him close, nearly head butting him. "Can all twelve of us guarantee two kills in less than five seconds? Even if we each killed two or three, it takes time and one could kill Merrill, Marethari and Altáriël before we could stop them."

"What do you propose? Let them stay down there, in the presence of Templars? They hate mages!"

"I know. But Cίrdan put me in charge, and I say we wait. We can try to get them out during the night, but not now. I'm not letting you get Merrill or yourself killed by running off without a plan." With that said, Ronin gave Tamlen a shove and crawled away from the edge to join the other hunters in a circle.

With a low grow of frustration, Tamlen replaced the arrow in his quiver and slung his bow back across his shoulders. He crawled back with the rest of the hunters, getting out of sight and earshot should the Templars be able to hear anything over the crackling of bonfires and through their helmets.

Ronin looked at all the hunters, all of whom were looking to him as their leader. He swallowed, as his mouth was suddenly dry. Both Ronin and his former self were not the "leader types," and it was all coming back to him now. He was more used to being on his own, rather than part of a group, let alone commanding the group.

"Okay, here's what we'll do…"

* * *

><p>Ronin perched on top of the tree branch directly over a pair of Templars, a dagger in one hand and a noose in the other. He was above the pair furthest from the commander's tent and the captured mages. A disturbance here would draw everyone to this side of the camp. <em>Hopefully.<em>

"Are you sure these elves are coming after us?" asked the Templar just below him. Ronin knew he was a novice, judging by his armor – a cheaply made suit of armor formed from grey iron – and by the age his voice betrayed. He was eighteen, maybe nineteen. Probably just took his vows to the Chantry.

_Oh, yes. We've come after you,_ thought Ronin as he dropped the rope, sunk his claws into the branch, and prayed it fell right. He only had one chance and if he got it wrong, the three hunters ten feet behind him would be on a short trip to the ground thirty feet below.

Humans were heavier built than the Elvhen, which is why three elves were now hurtling to the ground clutching at the other end of the rope Ronin had dropped. With the heavy Templar at the other end of the cord, the elves combined weight made the Templar spring up into the treetops with remarkable speed.

Just in case the noose around his neck didn't kill him, Ronin hung from the branch pierced by his right hand claws and flipped the dagger in his left hand around to stab it right up into his target's throat. Ronin's side of his abilities made him ambidextrous, luckily, or he would have missed the Templar's windpipe with his strike.

As the Templar's eyes glazed over in death, Ronin swung himself around and started swinging back to the cliff where four Dalish hunters waited for him. They nodded at their leader over their nocked arrows, each picking a different Templar as they emerged from their tents.

Ronin grinned as the Templars clustered around the hysteric novice, which nicely diverted their attention from the single Dalish elf who slipped down a tree above the two Templars who had remained guarding the three mages. Despite the cuffs, the Templars were taking no chances with their captured mages.

Despite his lack of training, he was light enough on his feet to not be detected until he leapt out of the tree and landed on the Templar below him. He had drawn his hunting knife in mid-air and planted it between the Templar's collarbone and shoulder blade, angled to pierce the heart.

The other Templar was surprised for an instant, which quickly gave way to training made instinct. The Templar drew his sword, ready to take Tamlen down with a single blow. Tamlen wrenched the knife out of the dead Templar's neck and dropped into a knife fighter's crouch, albeit clumsily.

_Tamlen is a warrior, not a rogue,_ thought Ronin as he calmly put an arrow on his bowstring, drew and released in a fluid motion. A second arrow was on his string in an instant, despite the shaft sprouting from the second Templar.

Tamlen threw a smile over his shoulder in the direction of the top of the cliff as he searched the two newly made corpses. He quickly found the keys to the shackles and released his wife, Keeper and friend from their bonds. Within seconds, Marethari and Merrill were on their feet and ready to move, helping Altáriël to her feet.

They all quickly climbed back up the tree and leapt onto the cliff, rejoining the other elves arrayed across the cliff top. Each of the hunters nodded to the Keeper as she passed, keeping their greetings to themselves until there was no chance of them being discovered. When they no longer had active targets to worry about, they would greet her properly.

"Well done," said Marethari, smiling at Ronin. She rolled her eyes when she glanced towards Tamlen, who was currently oblivious to the world, due to his bondmate kissing him passionately. "What's the plan? Merrill and I are fine, but Altáriël is in bad shape."

_Damn_, thought Ronin. He'd planned on making a clean getaway, now that they had rescued the mages. With Altáriël injured, she would slow down all the Dalish hunters without major healing. Despite the two well-trained mages they had, healing would also be incredibly dangerous, as the Templars would sense the magic and home in on it in an instant.

With eight hunters up on the cliff – plus the two mages – and four out in front of the camp, Ronin effectively had the Templars surrounded, despite the small size of his forces.

_Even with the element of surprise, the Templars have the advantage due to their armor_, thought Ronin, running through different plans for engaging the enemy. _We can't score a clean kill with every shot, even if we aimed for their armor's weak spots and we can't fight them on equal ground with a smaller force and lighter armor. Unless we have another advantage, we can't win. _

Something occurred to him, something he remembered from his journey in the caves. He smiled, something that made Tamlen smile as well.

Ronin had found his edge.

"Marethari, Merrill, be ready. Theron, circle around to contact the warriors on the other side of the camp. Tell them to attack on my signal."

"What's the signal?" asked Theron as Ronin smiled under the layers of bud and dirt, his plan formed.

"They'll know."

* * *

><p>All but eight of the Templars had retired for the night, leaving one pair looking over the three mages, still bound in magic-resistant cuffs, and the other three duos facing outwards, away from the camp. They kept a constant sweep of the surrounding trees as the leader of their hunting party felt uneasy.<p>

"This forest is making me feel…watched," he had said, which made the others double the effort they put into keeping an eye out for any possible enemies. The Brecilian Forest was the home of the Dalish and they knew the terrain better than the city raised Templars. They also were expert in the field of stealth, which is the reason they had several torches burning between them and the rest of the forest.

As stealthy as the Dalish are, they can't walk past flaming torches without casting shadows.

"Are you sure these elves are coming after us?" asked one of the Templars, standing close enough to talk to his fellow guard. His helmet quickly swiveled between his ally and the surrounding darkness, his actions nervous. "I mean, they'll leave us alone since we've got their mages, yeah?"

The other Templar didn't respond to the question in a form of words, making a sort of choking sound, which made the other Templar focus on his friend. The space that his fellow guard had occupied an instant before was empty. The only thing that indicated a Templar once had been there was the trademark helm lying on the grass.

"Oh, Maker," he whispered, terrified. Fully grown and armored humans do not up and disappear into thin air. _It does not happen! _ "Help! Help me!"

At his loud cries, the entire came alive. The armored sentries rushed over, swords raised and shields ready, while those who had previously been asleep tumbled out of their tents whilst trying to fasten armor to their bodies. Those who wore leather armor were first to arrive

"What happened?" said one of the armored Templars, grabbing the hysteric sentry by the gorget and pulled him helm to helm. "What's wrong?"

"He's gone! He's gone!" shouted back the novice, still terrified of the shadows despite the presence of every Templar in the camp around him. "He was right there, but now he's gone!"

"Who was on guard with this novice?" asked the most senior Templar, his armor heavy silverite with the Sword of Mercy emblazoned in silver across his chest. His robes were made of a deep red silk, and his blade a polished great sword of red steel.

"Athur, Commander. He said he would take first watch with Adam."

The Commander walked over to the helm and looked around the ground, looking for a sign as to what happened to his subordinate.

The ground was already marred with many footprints, his Templars having walked across the dirt and trampled the tall grass. He could see no sign of any other footprints other than his Templar's boots.

"I sense no magic," he said, stretching out with his lyrium aided senses to feel the area around him. "Nor do I see any ash or other sign that his body was obliterated by magic."

"What do we do, Commander?" another asked. "Do we look for him?"

The Templar commander nodded slowly before pointing out three of his men, two heavily armored in steel armor and one in leather. "You, you and you. Spread out and find Athur. The rest of you, back to your posts and beds. I want you ready to move out come-"

_Plink._

The commander swore under his breath as he heard the small sound echo in the confines of his helmet. "And make sure we have enough wood to keep the fires going through the night. I don't want the rain to put them out."

"Commander…" began a Templar, armored except for his helm, sounding quite worried. At the commander's inquiring look, the Templar pointed up into the foliage. With the amount of armor Templars wore – especially the heavy helm – they couldn't look up to well, so the commander tucked it beneath his arm and followed his subordinate's gaze.

Swinging from a rope wrapped around its neck thirty feet in the air, Athur's corpse swung lazily in a circle, blood dripping from the dagger hilt protruding from beneath his jaw.

In an instant, all the fires died. Not even the coals glowed in the sudden darkness. The only light that filled the forest was that of the stars in the sky.

Unfortunately for the Templars, the Elvhen can see in the dark.

Humans can't.

* * *

><p>As soon as the mages took out the lights, the hunters proceeded to eliminate as many targets as they could before the warriors could get into melee range. Arrows silently perforated the Templars, punching through the weak leather-covered weak spots in the heavy armor.<p>

The commander was the first to go – Ronin's arrow taking him in the eye slit of his helmet – along with his lieutenants. Officers controlled the lower ranked men, so cutting off their chain of command would turn an organized defence into leaderless men scrambling to survive as unseen adversaries picked them off one by one.

The Elvhen worked from both sides of the crowded Templars, half of them working from left to right and the other doing the opposite. Ronin wanted them pinned where they were, unable to make a run for it until the archers had thinned their ranks enough for the warriors to engage.

Tamlen's normal place would be with his fellow warriors, but he would not leave Merrill's side for an instant now that he had her back at his. Ronin smirked as he watched his lethallin glance aside after every shot, making sure she was still there beside him. Safe and sound.

As the Templar's numbers decreased, they started to realize that the arrows weren't coming from in front of them, nor to the rear or either side. The deadly rain of arrows came from above.

One of the men had the bright idea to galvanize the rest into action with a shout of "Shields up!" Their newly created phalanx protected from the arrows, but they were pinned down for now. They couldn't break formation without taking more losses, but the Dalish couldn't kill them as long as they stayed where they were.

Or so they thought.

Without warning, five blurs became shadows that wielded blades, cutting into their backs as they tried to figure out what to do next. Eight fell before the Templars even knew they were under attack from a different front altogether. Four more fell across their allies' backs as they heard the other collapsing, their heavy armor _clang_ing and _thud_ding into the ground.

Swords began to swing back at the shadows, keeping them far enough away so that they could regroup and retaliate without any more dying.

They were down to eighteen Templars.

The Elvhen conserved their ammo once the hunters on the ground began hacking into the Templar's rear, keeping their arrows for when they needed them and to avoid accidentally injuring the other Elvhen. A few Templars broke the shield wall, making small gaps, and received arrows in sensitive places for their trouble.

As the Templars became aware of the threat, the shield wall started to fall apart as the Templars tried to defend multiple fronts with little command structure. Those who kept their shields up were safe from the hunters on the cliff, but vulnerable should the elves on the ground get within striking distance, while those who dropped their shields were soon dropped as well from arrows on high.

Theron waded into the combat easily, wielding his dar'misaan with grace, or with as much grace as one can wield a two-handed sword. He cut into a Templar's leg, sending him crashing to the ground as his leg collapsed beneath him, allowing a quick stab under the helmet into the throat.

Counter. Cripple. Kill. The pattern had been ingrained into him as he learned how to wield a blade with the rest of the Elvhen. His strokes were fluid and his head clear as he slaughtered his way through those who would kidnap his friends and harm his clan.

He fought well, his brothers and sisters harrying the Templars at his side as he danced into range, ready to take another Templar down.

* * *

><p>Ronin kept firing as new targets showed themselves to him. The eye slit of a helmet. The inner elbow joint of an arm bearing a sword. The bent knee of another Templar trying to drag a wounded Templar back towards the others.<p>

In the back of his mind, he wondered how he had become so very violent. Before he woke up here in Thedas, he had been a simple guy who worked at a grocery store and had a penchant for RPGs. Which is not to say he wasn't a fan of fighting or a pacifist.

Now, he methodically and remorselessly aimed arrow after arrow into the mass of shifting bodies and armor, killing or at least crippling with every shot he let fly from his bow. Eleven men lay dead by his hand in this battle.

He'd killed thirteen men in cold blood since he got here. Not bad, considering it's only been about two weeks or so since he arrived in Ronin's body. But he had not killed anyone while he was human, so it was a rather sobering change to the way he looked at things. _It's not a game anymore._

His slight amount of guilt was tempered by the experiences of his Elvhen half. He was used to the way of Thedas, where the strong survived and death wasn't going to come from old age most of the time.

* * *

><p>The Elvhen cleaned their blades on the tabard of their fallen enemies before sheathing them across their backs or at their hips. The battle was won, with only several shallow cuts on their side of the fight and no casualties.<p>

Ronin swung down through the trees to land among his kin, retrieving as many reusable arrows as he could. He also went through their pockets, putting all the copper, silver and gold coins in a sack to be divided later. The lyrium potions some of the Templars carried were handed to Tamlen, who would give them to the three magi up on the cliff. The healing poultices and potions he handed to the uninjured hunters, who would heal the injured.

The last thing he took from the Templars was the amulets around their necks. A small oval of steel with the Sword of Mercy on one side and the name of the Templar inscribed on the back. When he got to Denerim, or the next village with a Chantry, he'd leave them with the Revered Mother with a warning.

Do not bother the Dalish.


	8. An Eventful Journey

The aravel, drawn by the halla, wound through the forest in a long line. Several hunters led the way, guiding the halla towards even ground as well as making sure they did not run into wild animals or bandits. Both of which were likely options, as they had moved closer to the village of Stonewar, headed in the opposite direction of Ironbrook. With twelve of their most experienced hunters out following the Templars, their defenses were lessened a bit. There were still about fifty archers spread out along the line of seventy aravel, but any attacks would have to be finished quickly to avoid endangering the elders or children. Some pulled double duty from atop the aravel, shifting their aim from side to side to search for opponents.

Three times, the forward scouts called for a halt, sending a pair of them further down their chosen path to scope out the situation. Luckily, the encounters were nothing more than few herds of wild halla and deer. The sentries posted on top of the aravel relaxed slightly and lowered their bows as the scouts returned with no difficulties. As soon as they took their positions again, the caravan of Elvhen carried on through the forest.

Hours later, they stopped for the night, lighting several fires to cook meals within meters of the aravel. After the excitement of earlier in the day, they were in no mood to set up camp till they were at least a few days of travel away.

Cίrdan, Ilen and Paivel stood at the rearmost aravel, facing away from the fires' light, watching the darkness beyond the pool of illumination. Once the mages have been rescued, the hunters would approach from the east, and the two elders would be the first to greet them.

Paivel went through his healing pouch for the fifth time since reaching their post, making sure that he had bandages, herbs, poultices and potions, and everything else he could think of. He and Ilen both feared for the state of the mages, as the humans dislike of magic was a well-known fact. Many a tale of a mage being mutilated was shared at the Arlathvhen, by all the clans. They've all known the taste of a Templar's blade against their clan at one time or another.

Cίrdan, while knowing all the stories, did not feel the same. He'd trained Ronin, Tamlen, Theron and many of the other hunters who accompanied them. He was confident in their ability to retrieve their captured brethren. He simply waited with his cane in one hand and his bonding gift in the other.

They all looked up at the shrill whistle the hunters used as an 'all clear' signal and focused on the direction it had come from. Ilen replied with his own call, drawing it out so that the rest of the caravan could hear and not mistake it for a different signal.

From the dark shadows beneath the mighty trees of the Brecilian Forest, black shapes became hunters and mages, all but one walking under their own power with very few of them sporting bandages. At most, Paivel could change the bandages after they had time to rest.

Ilen and Paivel sighed as they walked to meet them, shaking hands and exchanging greetings with the warriors before they passed the last aravel to rejoin their families. Many hugged their bondmates and whispered placating words in their ears as they noticed bandages or scooped their children off the ground to set them on a hip, already sharing their embellished tales of bravery to entertain them.

Others walked off to their own aravel, ready for a night's rest to recover. They had run quite a way to catch up to the Templars, not to mention fighting them and returning before the night had ended. Some were just putting on a show, walking as if they could do the run over again when, in reality, they were about five minutes from collapsing.

After greeting all ten of the other hunters, Ilen, Paivel and Cίrdan finally got to the three mages, the warrior and the Warden.

Merrill had one arm looped around Tamlen's waist, the other clutching to the spaulder of his armor to keep her up. Tamlen had his own arm around her waist as well, and seemed to be holding most of her weight. A quick look over from both Paivel and Ilen showed that she had no major or minor injuries, so they were ushered into their own aravel – one of the many gifts from others in the clan – quickly followed by Cίrdan. Ilen grinned as he already heard the aged Elvhen fussing over his new daughter, making sure she was totally healed and comfortable, despite the protests from Tamlen that he was very capable of taking care of his bondmate himself.

Marethari walked to her own aravel under her own power, exchanging greetings in the form of kind words, hugs, and gentle touches as she returned to her dwelling. She smiled at the two elders who had waited for her, receiving their grins in return. With a quick whispered exchange, she told them she needed some rest before explaining everything to them. As soon as dawn arrived, they could ask as many questions as they wanted.

Finally, the hahren turned to the final pair to enter the firelight.

Altáriël was fast asleep, held in the arms of Ronin with her head resting on his shoulder. She snored lightly, making the pair of elders laugh, though they quickly muffled their chuckles as Ronin shot them a glare. In hushed tones, he told them that she had nearly collapsed after spending a quarter of the journey trailing behind all of the other hunters. When she tripped over a tree root, Ronin had scooped her up before she could come close to hitting the ground. She had fallen asleep about two hours ago and had been carried the rest of the way home.

Altáriël's parents quickly came up and relieved Ronin of her, thanking him profusely in quiet tones as not to disturb her. As soon as her weight left his arms, the new Warden flexed his extremely strained muscles. Carrying anything, even a sixteen year old elf, for two hours was exhausting work. He nodded to his teachers before climbing into the aravel he and Ashalle shared, seeking his bed for slumber before he dropped to the wood floor beneath his feet. He stopped a moment to hug his adoptive mother, showing her that he was completely unharmed and assuring her that all the mages were home, safe and sound.

He then went for the cot in the corner, ready to drop at any second, unbuckling armor and weapons as he went. After running down Templars, taking them down, rescuing his clan, and carrying one of them back, he couldn't care where the weapons fell. He'd clean up in the morning, before he left.

Finally, he dropped into bed and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

* * *

><p>Ronin awoke an hour after dawn, tumbling out of bed in a heap as he tried to navigate the aravel without opening his eyes. He could see the light behind his closed eyelids and knew it would be very painful to open them, so he pushed himself to his hands and knees and started blindly searching for his clothes and armor.<p>

It was in this position that he heard the chuckles of both Tamlen and Merrill, watching him stumble around and bump his head off tables and the cot frame. Blearily, he saw them sitting on Ashalle's cot, hand in hand, and he growled as he squeezed his eyes shut again to the sound of their laughter.

Deciding to just get it all over with, he sighed, opened his eyes and swore several times as he managed to open his eyes directly in a beam of sunlight. Ronin jerked back, to increased laughter, and managed to snag his hooded long coat with his left hand. He slipped into it and pulled the hood over his eyes, finally sighing as the light shining in his eyes was muted, albeit slightly.

"Welcome back to the realm of the living, Ronin, my friend," said Tamlen, his fist trying to muffle his mirth. "We thought you'd sleep even longer."

"Stop bothering him, my love," said Merrill, elbowing her husband in the ribs, eliciting a small 'oof' from the warrior. "We wanted to see you off, as well as Ashalle, Marethari, Paivel, Ilen, Cίrdan, Theron and all the rest of the clan."

Shocked, Ronin stood up straight and looked out the doorway, trying to see if there was a crowd outside his door. He spotted a few faces turned in his direction, immediately ducked his way back to the cot, and scrambled around to pull the scattered pieces of his armor into arm's reach.

The newly bonded pair laughed again as the famed hunter and week old Warden struggled to get his weapon harness strapped to his back, his arrows back in their quiver, his fighting knives to their sheathes, and the throwing knives to his belt, shoulder spaulder, and boots. His mother's chest was quickly rigged into a suitcase with a small length of halla mane rope for ease of travel. A bag of first aid supplies – poultices, potions – herbs, bandages and the necessary tools to grind and mix all the ingredients needed for more sat at his feet. A second, smaller bag held enough trail rations to last for three days or so. Both bags were tossed into a rucksack, along with all the clothes Ronin owned besides the ones he currently wore and the bundle of arrows he had yet to put in his quiver.

With all that packed away and swung onto his back, his mother's slim trunk held in one hand, Ronin paused for a moment. He'd lived here so long, spent days inside during the rain or when the clan moved around, slept here in here with Ashalle within arm's reach should he ever have a nightmare or think something was out there in the dark.

This aravel was his home, this clan was his home, and this way of life was his home.

At the same time, it wasn't. He'd lived two childhoods, lived with parents and an adopted mother. Ate processed foods and hunted for his meals. Shot a bow at targets and animals and humans. Fought for points and time limits and to kill his opponents and preserve himself and his people. Got scars and broken bones from cars and shields and blades and computer desks.

_Amazing how a week and a half could change a guy_, he thought as he pulled the straps tighter against his frame. _Time to be a Grey Warden_

* * *

><p>The crowd of every Elvhen in the clan – minus the one or two sentries atop several aravel – stood outside the dwelling of the newest Grey Warden. The first Warden from the Elvhen clans in over four Ages. Four hundred years since the time of Garahel and the Archdemon Andoral…<p>

He would be missed, as all elves that leave the clans are. It was disheartening to lose one of their own, but they recognized the reason why he must leave. He had been sick and, in exchange for his healing, he would join the Order who protected all Elvhen in Thedas, along with the shemlen and durgen'len.

That was a reason worth leaving the clan for.

* * *

><p>He emerged from the aravel, a rucksack hanging from his shoulder over the quiver and fighting knife sheathes harness, the hood of his long coat hanging from the back of his neck, and the long black case in his left hand. His face was grim under the black vallaslin covering his face, his eyes sad and afraid.<p>

He met his mother at the foot of the short set of stairs, wrapping his arms around her as she did the same. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, hiding his suddenly wet eyes from the rest of the clan. Others smiled sadly at this attempt to keep from embarrassment, knowing exactly what he was doing but playing along. They all turned to their neighbors and spoke of simple things to cover the words being whispered between mother and son, letting them exchange private goodbyes despite being in the middle of a crowd.

Paivel, Ilen and Cίrdan moved up behind him, two of them placing one hand on his shoulders and the last placing his hand on the back of the hunter's neck. Others came up behind them and did the same to Ashalle and others, not touching Ronin themselves, but showing their support of him all the same.

Ronin raised his head, brushing away the few tears that had escaped and noted the entire clan standing around him, each holding onto one another in a giant web that centered on him. He smiled, taking in all the connections from the young children to the oldest hahren. _They all support me, even though I'm leaving them…_

With a final tight hug from Ashalle and several handshakes from most of the hunters and elders, a path opened up for the Grey Warden. As he stepped closer and closer to the edge of camp, many of the clan added items to his nearly half filled rucksack. Several hunters added trail rations, spare bow strings, ironbark throwing knives, fishing line and hooks. Others added a few extra tunics and breeches, sewing supplies, flasks of the alchemical mixtures used in ironbark crafting, and extra sheets of leather and oil for the care of his armor.

By the time he reached the outer circle of the aravel, his rucksack was almost full. He shifted the strap across his shoulder as to better manage the weight and to make sure the quick release knot was within easy reach. Should he walk into a possible combat situation, he would need to move quickly and the rucksack would only hamper his ability to defend himself. All the bottles and flasks in the bag were wrapped in cloth and kept near the center, so unless it was totally crushed, they would remain in one piece.

He was so engrossed with his last minute check of his equipment that he jumped three feet in the air when startled by a small hand grabbing his sleeve. Despite the instinctual impulse to throw a knife and ask questions later, Ronin turned to find a bundle of cloth shoved into his face.

Gathering the material under one arm, he managed to see Altáriël smiling, albeit sadly, a few feet away.

"You almost forgot your new cloak," she said, eyes simultaneously showing suppressed laughter and sorrow.

With a raised brow, Ronin shook out the bundle and was surprised to find a heavy cloak in his hands, lined with wolf fur. The same wolf he had tanned with Altáriël more than a week ago, back in simpler times…

"Winter is coming," Altáriël muttered, looking out into the forest. The leaves had yet to change fully from green to brown, red, and yellow, but all the Elvhen could sense the shifting that would soon send cold air to their forest. "I figured you might need something warm in the days to come."

Ronin smiled, swinging the cloak about his shoulders to judge the fit. He immediately felt much warmer as he pulled it tight around him, noting that it was meant to be a replacement for the lighter coat he wore currently. A slight thrum through his right arm hinted to enchantments upon it, so he took it off and noted the runes stitched into the thick cloth with luminescent, lyrium soaked threads, just under the fur lining of the collar.

"Keeper Marethari helped me with the enchanting," Altáriël supplied at his questioning look. "Regular cloth only gets you so far."

He smiled at that, making the young Elvhen mage with a crush blush heavily. Before she could duck away to hide her embarrassment, he caught her in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet and swinging her around in a quick spin.

"Thank you, lethallan. I will treasure it," Ronin said, talking in low tones into her ear. He set her down, but didn't let go. She hadn't let go either. "I'll be back before you know it. I promise."

She smiled at that and loosened her grasp, letting him step away to stow his new cloak in his ruck. Altáriël stepped back, joining the crowd who still stood behind their departing hunter.

With a final look back at all the faces he'd lived with for the past nineteen years and a drawn out sigh, Ronin faced northwards to the forest, pulled the hood of his coat over his head and headed out into the trees.

Behind him, he could hear the clan singing, their voices low and quiet, barely heard over the ambient sounds of the forest. It was a song of remembrance and sorrow and it pulled at his heartstrings. Suledin, a song of endurance and emerging from sorrow…it brought tears to his eyes all over again.

_I wish I could stay, but if someone has the ability to change the world for the better, he has a moral obligation to do so. Or,_ he thought as he crested the first hill away from his clan,_ perhaps Uncle Ben said it best…with great power comes great responsibility. Though I do prefer the National Treasure version…how did it go? Whatever…I remember the gist: If there's something wrong, those who have the ability to take action have the responsibility to take action._

* * *

><p>It was after three days of travel that Ronin found another soul wandering the Brecilian Forest.<p>

He had enough dried rations to make it to Denerim and back without bothering to hunt and kill for his meals, but he preferred to keep those in reserve. Just in case he was injured by some freak accident and needed to hole up for a week…and he wanted to keep his skills sharp. Hunting and foraging were in his blood.

He'd stopped for an hour long break at midday, enough time to rest and finish the last of the rabbit he'd shot the day before. A little boiled water, some herbs, plus the rabbit made for a lovely stew. Half he had sliced thinly and dried over the fire while the rest was added to the stew.

It was then he could hear the bushes crashing and shaking. From his position atop a ten foot cliff, his feet dangling off the edge as he snacked on rabbit jerky strips, he could easily see a deer – a four point buck – running through the trees…as fast as it could with two arrows in its rear haunch.

A quick look from the way it had come showed a pair of bow wielding hunters chasing after it. One of them leapt over a fallen tree, arrow drawn in midair, and let loose in a third attempt to stop the animal. He landed heavily and rolls to avoid hurting himself, missing the arrow's flight which passed on the deer's left and landed with a thud into the tree it had just deked around.

Rolling his eyes, Ronin jumped to his feet and readied his own bow. Ironbark creaked almost imperceptibly as he led the target, his broadhead unwavering, ready to bite into the deer's flesh and end its suffering. He waited till it leapt into the air, the white tailed deer trying to clear a fallen log as the Elvhen hunter released his missile.

* * *

><p>Both of the human hunters were shocked to see the black shaft sprout from the side of the deer, punching deep into its body an inch behind its foreleg and six inches above the bottom of its chest. It immediately dropped to the ground, ploughing through the dirt to come to a rest after its legs cut out beneath it.<p>

"What in the Maker's Name?" asked one, easing the tension from his bow with an incredulous look on his face. He'd never seen a black shafted arrow suddenly appear in a deer he'd been trying to kill for the last ten minutes. "Where did that come from?"

His fellow hunter looked up at a flicker of movement atop the small rock face that they had driven the deer towards. He nearly panicked at the sight of a man wearing earthen toned clothing and armor, a dark blue bow in hand and a quiver of arrows across his back. The wind gently blew at the tails of his long coat, making them flap slightly in the westerly breeze as the hunter atop the cliff replaced his second arrow.

"Um…Richard?" asked the second, pointing up the cliff, his other hand keeping the arrow on his bow.

Richard followed the pointing hand, immediately drawing his arrow back as he took in the hooded figure on the precipice.

The hood swivels slowly to them from where it was aimed in the direction of the deer. The sun was directly overhead and the trees diffused most of the light, so they could barely make out the man's chin, let alone his eyes or other features.

"Who goes there?" challenged Richard, his bow still trained. "James, help me out here."

James immediately drew his own arrow back, worried now. The man was either Chasind, which meant there is probably more than one around and very dangerous; or one of the Dalish Elves, whose dislike of humans was a well-known tale, along with their preternatural quickness and skills at combat. Either way, the possibility of them surviving was decreasing.

Much to their surprise, the man simply stepped off the cliff, plummeting down the rock face for a second or so before crouching at the base. He raised his hands after stowing the bow across his back, looping it over the quiver, and strode forward slowly.

"Andaran atish'an, shemlen," he said, keeping his hands up with fingers spread. Richard and James realized he was an elf, slightly shorter then themselves…this fact made them remain uneasy, despite the knife ear's empty palms. Tales of Elvhen speed could be exaggerated, or possibly even be true. He might be fast enough to draw a weapon and dispatch them both…

"Ah, abelas…" the elf trailed off. "…Forgive me. I have not used the Common Tongue in many days now."

"Why'd you kill our deer?" asked Richard, arrow still tight on the string but no longer aimed at the elf's heart.

The covered head tilted, a flash of a smile appearing. "With two arrows in its hindquarters, the animal would have been in some pain. I was merely putting it out of its misery."

At their surprised exchange of glances, he spoke again, his voice halting and stumbling slightly over words as if they were unfamiliar to his tongue. "I mean you no harm. I'll not steal your kill. If you wish, I will merely retrieve my arrow and be off."

"Since you helped us bring it down, you should take a little more than just your arrow," replied James, removing the tension from his bowstring and replacing the arrow in his quiver. He waved a hand at Richard, who shot him an almost panicked look, but lowered his bow all the same.

"Richard, go get the horses, if you please," he said smoothly to his fellow hunter. Richard nodded once and kept a wary eye on the elf as he started walking back the way he came. He then said to the elf, "It's the least we can offer."

The elf tilted his head to one side, his mouth quirked as if in puzzlement. "You are not hostile to the Elvhen?"

James laughed as he strode forward and stretched out a hand, which the elf nearly missed in surprise. He shook the hunter's hand firmly, not trying to crush the proffered hand but merely squeezing tightly. "I hold no ill will to any of the Elvhen. I'm on good terms with one, actually."

James drew a leather necklace from beneath his tunic and hung it just in front of his eyes. It was a small Sword of Mercy, carved from ironbark. "I am James Fletcher. I saved an elf from one of your clans when he would have died from a bear attack during one of his solo hunting trips. He was an apprentice to the Craftmaster and made this as a little keepsake. When I left him with his clan, he thanked me and he gave me this. Told me to show it to any elf who might be hostile against me."

Ronin peered closely at the pendant in wonder. Not many would carve a human's religious icon out of a crafting material unique to the Elvhen. He didn't recognize the artist's marks on the back, but he did recognize the clan marking, an outline of a diving raptor. The mark of the Halcyon clan, who roamed through the Korcari Wilds when not in Southern Orlais. Mostly, they only stayed in the southern parts of the Brecilian Forest, so the Sabrae only met them a few times over the years between the Arlathvhen.

"I am Ronin Mahariel, of the Sabrae clan, newly appointed Grey Warden," he said, pushing back his hood to look James in the eye. "It is an honor, James Fletcher."

The man smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, then. This deer isn't going to skin itself."

* * *

><p>A few hours later, evening had fallen upon the forest and a warm campfire sat flickering a few feet from the cliff face. A rack kept the deer hide stretched tight next to a line strung between two trees with hanging strips of meat. Whatever meat that hadn't been tucked into barrels of salt or hung up to be dried over the fire sat in a pot above the flames, cooking merrily as James tended to it.<p>

"Why do you trust that the elf won't attack us in our sleep or something, James?" Richard asked in a whisper, glancing around at the huge trees surrounding them, as if the elf would appear at any second. "He could be doing anything out there, not collecting herbs like he said…"

"I respect him and showed him as much. If I had shot at him or insulted him – hand me those wild potatoes – he'd have responded in kind," said James, idly tasting the stew. He shrugged and added a pinch of salt and the chopped wild vegetables Ronin had found earlier.

"I still don't trust him," growled Richard, chopping another potato with excessive force.

A sudden growl from the darkness behind him made him freeze in mid slice, the knife an inch from the tubers. He swiveled slowly, not breathing, to find a pair of yellow eyes looking at him from the gloom. Suddenly the nervous whinnies from the horses were clearly heard. James hefted his own knife at the sight and slowly rose from his cross legged position on the forest floor.

"Don't move," whispered Ronin, appearing from the blackness to his right, his cloak making him blend in with the mixing shadows and foliage. His entrance nearly had Richard jumping away in shock if not for the firm grasp the elf had on his arm. "It's only a wolf."

"_Only_ a wolf?" Richard hissed back, his eyes wide and voice pitched an octave higher, making it slightly squeaky. "Shoot it!"

"He's just hungry, just being curious," Ronin replied as he slowly let the hunter go and stepped closer to the wolf. "James, toss me a couple of strips."

"Maker's breath, you'd better be right," said James in answer, watching the predator with frightened eyes, and threw the meat to Ronin.

With a quick motion that he made look graceful, Ronin caught the meat and held it out to the wolf, meeting its yellowed eyed stare with his own. It approached him slowly, as wary of the elf as he was of it.

When it stepped into the light, Ronin nearly choked while James and Richard nearly scrambled in their haste to put their backs against the stone cliff at the sight. Ronin had made a small error. It wasn't just a wolf…

It was a _dire wolf_.

Its fur was dark, a deep dark grey that went to pure black at its gigantic paws and the tips of its ears. Its eyes were a deep rich gold, looking very intelligent, almost human, despite being in an animal. Shiny white teeth that looked sharp as razors were bared beneath slightly raised hackles, but not outright shown as if in an aggressive stance.

As compared to a regular grey wolf, the largest of grey wolves would be the average dire wolf. This wolf was much larger. At the shoulder, it looked to be at least three and a half feet tall and about six feet long. It was built much heavier and wider than the wolves Ronin had seen as a human and, if he remembered correctly, probably weighed at least a quarter more than any of modern day wolves.

Suddenly, half-standing, half-crouching in front of Earth's largest wolf and one of Thedas' more dangerous predators was not such a good idea…

_Oh, this is bad_, thought Ronin, very, very aware of the larger than life wolf in front of him. The fact that a dire wolf had a much stronger bite than its more modern cousin kept flitting across his mind and it was playing havoc with his adrenal glands, his fight-or-flight reflex in full swing. _Oh, bad, bad, bad._

Seeing a wolf up close and through a pair of binoculars were very different things, particularly when the former situation meant that said predator could easily eat him…

Ronin could hear the rattle of arrows against bows behind him and hoped that, if the beast leapt at him, Richard and James could kill it before it killed him...or savage him too badly. All the injury poultices in the world wouldn't help him if that wolf got a hold of him.

Forcing himself to breathe, he laid the meat on the ground and slowly backed away, keeping his eyes locked on the wolf's. Once he bumped his back against the stone, he pulled one of his fighting knives from its sheathe and hoped he wouldn't need to use it.

The hahren had described a pack of dire wolves hunting a herd of wild halla when he was a child and the dreams he had that night had been horrific. It was all coming back to him now and it scared the hell out of him.

The wolf sniffed the meat, not once looking away from Ronin and the hunters, before scooping it up in its massive jaws. It let out a small huff and turned away, as if laughing at the human's and elf's reaction to its presence.

It was half an hour later before they could step away from the wall and try to eat the unburned bits of stew.

None of them turned their backs on the forest that night.

* * *

><p>That morning, Ronin helped James and Richard load their meat laden barrels onto the horses and left with all haste, eager to leave the forest as quickly as possible. Meeting one of the biggest predators of the forest was enough for the rest of their lives. They left on a western path, heading for Ironbrook, while Ronin followed the river north, heading to Dragon's Peak, which could be glimpsed now and again in the gaps between the trees.<p>

Every now and then, he felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise. He'd always look over his shoulder, check every shadow, every bush and fallen log that could hide anyone or anything, but he'd not found a single thing for the entire day.

* * *

><p>It was late in the evening on the sixth day when Ronin crested the last hill between him and the capital city of Ferelden. The city stretched high above the horizon, being built at the base of Dragon's Peak and extending up it along its slope, and the castle sat even higher. Several smokestacks belch black fumes into the air, most likely cookhouses, bakeries or blacksmiths. He could smell the smoke from here, tinged with the scent of bread, meat and metal.<p>

The West and North roads, which joined together maybe half a kilometer from the gates, were crowded despite the late hours of the day. By scent alone, Ronin guessed they were farmers, judging by the smell of wheat and corn. _Winter is coming in a month or two…they must be selling their surplus from harvest to buy other supplies before the snow hits._

If he was back with his clan, he'd have been making runs to the closest town for the foodstuffs and supplies they couldn't produce on their own. Metals and spices were the usual purchases/trades, since the Elvhen did not mine or cultivate plants…very often, anyways…

He decided to keep his ears covered and his tongue Common. Most humans didn't respond well to Elvhen bearing weapons. Made them nervous…mostly for good reason. With the Dalish hatred for driving them from their lands still going strong and those of the Alienage resenting their position as second class citizens, an armed elf would make quite a few humans very nervous should they get within range.

He merely fell into step beside a wagon full of grain, immediately blending in with the farmers and hunters eager to get into the city before night fell, despite the vallaslin on his face uncovered by his spelled hood. He made sure that all the dragonbone weapons of his father's, his mother's bow and the journals they had both kept were tucked out of sight, since they were more than likely worth the entire wagon's weight in gold. He kept his other weapons on display, since he'd been forced to scare off several small groups of bandits through force of arms, especially after his encounter with the two deer hunters.

The bandits hadn't responded well to several arrows in their arms and legs…non-lethal wounds, of course, but damaging to both morale and mobility as several of them acquired wounds in as many seconds. They stopped following when the arrows began to whittle away at their ranks. He'd moved up to lethal attacks when they just kept throwing men at him.

The guards didn't look twice at him as he walked through the gates, thinking he was just added security for the farmers. Bandits need food and other supplies as well, so a guard or two with a wagon was not uncommon. More often than not, a hunter and a farmer would make a deal for mutual security.

The streets of Denerim were very different than he remembered from his gaming days, as he actually had to walk through the streets to the market square, as compared to just fast traveling to it. He'd seen the map of the city enough times to know where some of the main places were, such as the docks, the Pearl, the general area of the markets, and where Fort Drakon should be. How to get there is another matter.

Due to the late hour, he'd probably be refused entry to the Royal Palace, or even the wealthier sections of Denerim around it, especially if he had to remove his hood and reveal himself to be an elf. Instead of trying to find the castle, Ronin decided to find an inn, particularly the Gnawed Noble Tavern. If memory served correctly, the tavern was in the Market District, unfortunately in the opposite direction of where he wanted to go. On the other hand, he needed to stop by the Chantry to deliver the Templar talismans and impart the Dalish's warning.

He would've tried for the Pearl or the Alienage, but he only had so long before night fell – an hour or so at most, judging by the sun – and the cutthroats came out to play. He was sure he could take on a few, but they had the home turf advantage. They knew the best places to set ambushes and the best ways to escape if they bit off more than they could chew.

Meeting someone like that was not on his list of things to do tonight.

* * *

><p>Taking a chance, Ronin followed the only cobbled road through the city from the gates, which led to the Market District, luckily enough. The streets were mostly empty, probably since most farmers would rather bed down with their harvest than leave it out where thieves had ready access to it.<p>

All the stalls were almost as he remembered them from in-game, with only a few differences here and there. The stalls were all closed for the night, each with a guard posted right next to the large locked crates that held the stall's goods. If memory served, an herbalist, a jeweler, an imported goods dealer and a Tevinter Antiques dealer sold their wares in the four main stalls, but that was in the game, ten years from now.

He wasn't sure what was in the chests now, but he didn't want to try and find out, only to worry the four armed guards, whose hands didn't seem to drift far from the hilts of their swords. A hooded, heavily armed figure walking through the market in the evening was something a bit odd and worthy of notice. One such man showing a clear interest in the crates would be especially noticeable.

Ronin walked past the Chantry, nodding at the pair of Templars standing on guard at the doors across the small courtyard, and made his way to the tavern on the far side of the square. The door swung open easily, letting out an array of lights smells, and sounds: the flickering of candles and lanterns spaced about the room; the shadows thrown against the walls as people walked between the lights and the walls; the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread, along with the heady smell of ale and mead; the gentle murmur of conversations that rose and fell along with the shouts let out by the guests already too far into their cups and the clink of bottles as they were set down on the tables and tapped against each other.

It was different than he remembered. The bar along the back and the corridor to the several rooms off to the right were the same as the game, as well as the booths than ran along the walls, but there were several more tables between the door and the counter than he remembered. The door to the left, where the mercenaries and the Blackstone Irregulars representative would be, led to a room that was more square to the rest of the building than it was in game, rather than almost separate from the building and only connected by the doorway. He'd have to check how many rooms were down the corridor, but if there were more than two, he'd have to add that to his list of differences.

Behind the bar was a door to the storeroom, several barrels within sight through the open door to the right of a medium sized cooking fire in a brick fireplace with a few chickens and other small animals roasting on a pair of spits. To the left of the cooking fire was a rack over a second fire, on which several pans containing loaves of bread sat cooking. The bartender split his attention between the cooking food and the demand for drinks on the other side of his countertop.

He was a tall man, probably between six and a half feet and six foot ten, much taller than Ronin. His was thin and lean, his forearms heavily muscled under the rolled up sleeves of a grey shirt. He wore a pristine white apron over it, spotless despite the number of intoxicated patrons he was serving, who had managed to spill several times across his bar, and the number of plates he was constantly receiving and handing out. He nodded and shook his head several times, not speaking at all. He didn't smile or frown, merely raising an eyebrow every now and again.

His eyes did widen slightly as the hooded form of Ronin appeared in his door, though he merely nodded in greeting. With a quick look over him, the bartender reached down and pulled a bottle from one of the shelves Ronin assumed were underneath the bar. A wooden plate was set down beside it, quickly filled with cuts of meat freshly carved from the roasting spits in the back and a few slices of fresh bread.

He shoved both food and drink at the elf, waving away the silver Ronin had drawn from his belt to pay for the food, grunting "First time" by way of explanation. He then pointed to a table near the corner, nestled against the small L-shaped wall that stood by the corridor in the back. It was one of the more private corners, as the closest table was two or three meters away and anyone sitting in a booth would not be able to see whoever was sitting there at all.

Ronin carried his plate to the corner, balancing the bottle on the edge of the plate with a steady hand, only having to dodge once around a man in customized black and red armor, who shoved himself away from his table of laughing fellows to go fetch a refill for his own beer. _Morons_.

Once Ronin was in the corner and had placed his food on the table, he sat down on the surprisingly comfortable wooden chair, after dropping his bag, quiver/fighting knife harness, and case behind his chair, and propped his feet up on the second chair. The food looked delicious and he decided to try a tentative bite. _This is delicious_, he exclaimed mentally, eagerly digging into the food. _I thought I was good with trail rations…this is amazing!_

The bottle had a cork in the top and Ronin had a smile on his lips at the sight. He picked it up, bit down on the cork and yanked it from the bottle with a twist of his neck. _Ever since Assassin's Creed IV, I've wanted to try that_, he thought happily as he spat the cork onto the table, slapping his free hand down on the stopper before it flew off into the crowd. A quick sniff at the lip of the bottle filled his nose with the sweet smell of honey, along with several other herbs. He could pick out some mint and thyme in the mix, along with the heavy, almost musty smell of fermentation. He'd drunk mead in inns before, both as his human self and the Elvhen, but nothing had smelled like this…

_Meh. When in Ferelden_…he decided, and took a swig.

It took him several minutes to eat the chicken and bread, savoring each bite and washing it all down with the rather fantastic tasting mead. It was nowhere near the strength of Elvhen spirits, but that was to be expected, as humans had much smaller tolerance levels. He still had half the bottle left when he finished his plate, so he shoved the wooden dish to the edge of the table and leaned back on the chair, relaxing after the six day journey.

He looked up from his bottle when a young Elvhen girl came up to his table, collected his plate and stacked it with its fellows amidst empty bottles upon her tray. She barely paused for an instant longer than necessary to flash him a smile before she took off towards the bar. He watched her go, before noting other waitresses.

Several Elvhen women, young and old, scurried from table to table, collecting empty bottles and mugs and bringing out new, full ones, occasionally bringing food out to hungry patrons. They shared smiles with patrons, occasionally sharing short conversations with friendly patrons. They moved with quiet haste and sure step, deftly avoiding any drunken patrons' wandering hands…all, except for one.

The smallest elf server let out a small cry as one of the men, dressed in red and black leather armor with a white tabard overtop, caught her about the waist and pulled her into his lap, drunkenly pawing at her through the simple dress. She dropped her tray, spilling several drinks as she struggled to get back to her feet.

"Come on, Nessa," slurred the man. Ronin assumed he was a mercenary or a nobleman's guard, identified as such by the four others wearing the same garb at the same table. He couldn't identify the crest on their chest armor, a black dragon twisting in a red field, from either experiences as Dalish or human. The one accosting the waitress, Ronin recognized, was the same one who had nearly knocked the elf's food the floor. "You know you want to join us…"

Ronin sighed as he looked down to his mead, amber in the torchlight beneath clear glass. _And here I was, enjoying myself_, he mused, lifting the bottle to his lips. With several swallows, he drained the bottle, stood, and walked over to the table of red and black clad men. _I really hope they're quite inebriated…otherwise, this might get dangerous…_

"Let me go!" cried Nessa, fighting against the arm wrapped around her waist and trying to damage the man with her elbows and heels. It wasn't working, as his armor was rather thick leather and he was too sloshed to feel any of the blows.

"Come on, Athras!" called one of the men from across the table, shuffling a deck of cards. "Show that knife ear who's boss!"

He and his mates laughed, catcalling and whistling at Nessa's distress. They continued for a few seconds, until the card shuffler noticed the duster wearing form of Ronin, looming over Arthas and Nessa. All he could manage was a "Huh?" and pointed a finger.

Arthas looked over his shoulder, looking directly at Ronin's chest. His eyes flicked upwards to the Elvhen hunter's hooded face, spelled shadows obscuring his features. He scowled, angry at his fun being interrupted, and snarled, "Who the fuck are you?"

Ronin pitched his voice low and spoke quietly. He'd have no trouble being heard, since the bar went quiet at Arthas' loud challenge. He looked left and right without moving his head, noting that the surrounding tables were paying close attention. "The lady doesn't want to sit with you."

Arthas and the others threw their heads back and laughed, not believing this one man would stand up against five for an elf.

Nessa took this moment of distraction to throw an elbow, the point neatly thudding into Arthas' solar plexus, making him wheeze and double over despite the armor he wore. She leapt of his lap and scurried around Ronin, heading for the safety behind the bar. Ronin watched her go and saw that the barkeep kept one hand below the bar as she came to stand behind his shoulder. _Probably has some weapon there._

Arthas recovered quickly, taking a few seconds to get his breathing under control before charging up from his seat. He made to follow the young elf, but his path was blocked by Ronin. Scowling again in pain and anger, he looked down at the obstacle in his path. He pushed forward, trying to move the smaller elf by force, and was surprised to be held at a standstill by the smaller man's outstretched hand.

"Get out of my way, whelp, before I run you through," he growled, hand sitting on the pommel of his sword. He stood half a foot taller than his hooded opponent and he could almost taste the quick victory. "Now."

"Go back to your drinks," Ronin said back in a low tone, looking up at the human. Arthas was a large bear of a man, wider than Ronin by quite a bit and looked to outweigh him by forty to eighty pounds. His nose had been broken and badly set, leaving his nose crooked. His eyes were dark and shifty, with a faint scar on his right cheek that was intermittently covered by chin length, brown hair. _This should be fun…_

"Do you know who I am?" growled Arthas, bending down low to put his eyes level with where he assumed Ronin's were. Ronin wrinkled his nose. The man had worse breath than the genlocks he'd faced in the Forest.

"No," replied Ronin, smiling the whole time, knowing that the grin would only provoke the man further. _Sure, I'm egging him on whilst not looking for a fight, but if he does want a fight, he'll be less dangerous when he's mad_, he thought, hoping Arthas would realize he's too drunk for a fight. "Do you know who I am?"

"No," the human replied, an almost puzzled look to his face.

"Good!" exclaimed Ronin, as he clapped the man on his shoulder and turned away, all the while thinking 'Don't do it, don't do it.' "Have fun."

The elf sighed as the human grabbed a hold of the lapel of his coat and pulled him back, rearing back his other hand to launch a punch. _Time to go to work…_he thought idly, sighing as he rolled his eyes.

In his right hand, he spun the empty mead bottle and grasped it by the neck. Bottles used as weapons in real life fights didn't break as they did in movies, and the glass of this bottle was twice the thickness than the machined bottles of the modern day.

Before Arthas could throw the first punch, Ronin slammed the base of the bottle into his forehead, the edge catching him right between the eyebrows. With his left hand, he slapped the base of the human's neck hard, timing it close enough to land as the bottle did.

Not expecting the blow, Arthas started to sway dizzily as the pair of strikes messed with his motor skills, mainly by targeting the cerebellum beneath the base of his skull with the palm strike. Ronin followed the compression strike with a downward slash of the bottle, breaking the human's nose with a nasty sounding crack. Blood immediately spilled out his nose and stained the tabard in a few little streams.

Ronin dropped the bottle and spun Arthas around, letting him sway for a second before kicking the back of one knee. Arthas immediately dropped to his other knee, only stopped from falling completely to the floor by the firm hand grasping him by the hair on the top of his head.

The other four stopped in the process of simultaneously drawing their swords and rising from their table as Ronin drew one of his fighting knives he'd tucked into his belt before he came over. He kept it away from Arthas, just in case he moved in some way that could end with him being stabbed in the neck due to his discombobulation.

"Put them away, boys," said Ronin, flicking a couple of fingers of his weapon hand at them dismissively. "I don't want to hurt you any more than I wanted to hurt your friend here."

One by one, they all drew their swords, each blade rasping against the steel rim of their scabbards. Ronin sighed and looked over the four new competitors. Two carried longswords, shields forgotten at their feet, while the third carried a bastard sword, well-worn and dangerous looking, while the last wielded a greatsword with the precision of someone who knew how to use one.

The elf shook his head and pushed Arthas away from him, letting him hit the ground with a fresh howl of pain from landing face first on a broken nose. He took a step back and drew a knife from his boot, a seax he kept there for the sole purpose of replacing one of his fighting knives should he lose hold of it.

The humans began to close in on him, spreading out to encircle him on all sides. _Not as drunk as I hoped_, he thought, stepping back around a table to keep two of his opponents at a distance.

_Great…just great…_


End file.
